


Acting Your Truth

by squidgie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: Academy Award winning actor Rodney McKay is cast in a new movie bast on a short story he'd written, and is cast opposite action-movie hero John Sheppard.  He's not happy about it.





	1. Cast of Characters and Movie Synopsis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popkin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Performance In a Leading Role](https://archiveofourown.org/works/225563) by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori). 
  * Inspired by [I'll be watching you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505585) by [Antares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares/pseuds/Antares). 



> First of all, this work wouldn't be possible without two things:  
> 1) The beautiful piece written by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori) called "[Performance in a Leading Role](https://archiveofourown.org/works/225563)". It's a wonderful Sherlock piece that captured my imagination from the first time I read it. I asked her if I could remix this using Stargate Atlantis characters, and she said yes. So the biggest of thanks and kudos to her. You don't need to read "[Performance in a Leading Role](https://archiveofourown.org/works/225563)" to understand this, but you should, because it's amazing. 
> 
> 2) This piece solidified in my head through the [SGA Reverse Bang](https://sgareversebang.livejournal.com/) community when I claimed [this piece of art](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/reversebang_mod/84445597/1140/1140_original.jpg). This is just a snippet; when the whole work is published online, I will update so you can see the whole thing. Edit: The entire image is now online, AND IT'S GORGEOUS! It's here: [I'll Be Watching You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505585)
> 
> This work was so massive, and I had so many notes to keep things organized, that I ended up writing not just a cast of characters, but also a brief outline of the movie John and Rodney are to shoot. Chapter 1 of this work is simply that cast of characters and the movie outline. 
> 
> With something this large, it's impossible to catch every mistake. So if you find something (and no doubt you will), please don't hesitate to contact me and let me know so I can fix it.
> 
> Because this is about Hollywood, actors, and the movie industry, there are real people mixed in. They are not integral to the story, and this is not RPF. But you need people like Ellen, Gus van Sant, and Meryl Streep when you're telling a story based on Hollywood.
> 
> And finally, this work would be nothing if it weren't for the constant cheerleading and handholding of Popkin16. You are amazing, lady, and I <3 you so much!

Cast of Characters:  
John Sheppard - Actor that's been in the science fiction genre for far too long  
Rodney McKay - Academy Award winning actor, writer, and music composer  
Gus van Sant - Real - Director of John and Rodney's movie 'Losing Balance'  
Elizabeth Weir - Rodney's agent  
Evan Lorne - John's personal assistant and former model/actor  
Chuck - Rodney's personal assistant  
Samantha Carter - John's agent  
Peter Kavanagh - Actor, Rodney's rival  
Teyla Emmagan - Screenwriter for 'Losing Balance'  
Ronon Dex - Actor that's been in Sheppard's SciFi realm  
Carson Beckett- Multi-faceted actor that's also worked in Sheppard's science fiction realm  
David Parrish - Administrative Assistant in Samantha's office, Evan's boyfriend  
Larrin - Casting director for 'Losing Balance'  
Laura Cadman - First AD for 'Losing Balance'  
Kate Heightmeyer - Stage actress  
Fox Searchlight - The movie studio producing 'Losing Balance'  
Dream Notes - The movie Rodney won his Oscar for in acting  
Ranger Murdoch - John's space western that flopped  
Gateships - John's movie after 'Ranger Murdoch'  
Carter & Associates - John's agent's office  
Amelia Banks - John's publicist  
Losing Balance - the eventual name of the movie  
Katie Brown - Actress who was in 'Dream Notes' with Rodney, whom he dated briefly  
Peter Grodin - Singer/songwriter who was working on Rodney's music  
Ladon Radim - Mid-level flunkie at Fox Searchlight  
Jack O'Neill - Fox Searchlight executive  
Dillon Everett - Disney executive VP  
Abe Ellis - Fox Searchlight executive

 

MOVIE STORYLINE for 'Losing Balance'

Characters:  
Father: Jacob, Played by John Sheppard  
Witness: Nathan, Played by Rodney McKay  
Father's Partner: Thomas  
Daughter: Isabella

Basic plotline: The movie is based on a short story Rodney McKay wrote early on, and was later re-imagined by new screenwriter Teyla Emmagan. The movie script is about a father, Jacob, who lost his partner, Thomas, and child, Isabella, in an accident (Isabella was in her stroller that during a fight, his blond male partner is so distracted that he walks them into traffic). Happens early on, and we follow Jacob and his slow slide into madness. As he is coming out of a counseling session, he meets a handsome man, Nathan, who turns out to be a witness to his child's death. This sends him further into madness as he loses grip on reality. Pivotal scene is after the partner and child's burial where Jacob (Sheppard) breaks down after finally coming out of mourning, he finds his daughter's favorite toy as it falls out of the top of the closet. He calls his daughter, momentarily forgetting about her death, and collapses when reality hits him once again. He pushes the jackets to the side and opens the gun safe, then pulls out a revolver. With it in his hand, he calls his new friend, Nathan (McKay), gun pointed to his head, and says, "Tell me again about that day." 

Jacob becomes obsessed with the Nathan, stalking him but after secretly befriending him, getting closer and closer emotionally. Jacob (Sheppard) breaks into Nathan's (McKay's) house and installs surveillance equipment and watches his movements. At the same time, he gets closer and closer to Nathan (McKay), something teetering close to a relationship. After a few days, he breaks into Nathan's (McKay's) house and holds him hostage as the day his daughter died replays over and over in his head. He starts to blame Nathan (McKay) as he continues to replay the scene over and over. Jacob (Sheppard) puts the gun to his chest and raises up to kiss Nathan (McKay), but at that moment, sirens start to sound. He collapses, crying, saying, "You were the only person I could trust".

Nathan (McKay) has to recall both the original accident as well as the Jacob's (Sheppard's) descent into madness. He's the reason Jacob (Sheppard) has to go away for a few years, relegated to a psych ward.

Cut to two years later when there's a knock at Nathan's (McKay's) door. He opens it up and finds Jacob (Sheppard) standing there, looking different. Startled, he starts to shut the door but Jacob (Sheppard) just says "Please" so he opens the door once again. Jacob (Sheppard), his hair shockingly blond like his dead partner Thomas, pulls a note from the top of the baby carriage and hands it to him, then leans in and they kiss. As he walks off, Jacob (Sheppard) turns around, leans to whisper to the baby in the carriage, and waves. Except Nathan (McKay) sees that the baby in the stroller is just a doll. The note says, "Thank you for everything, from the bottom of our hearts. We're both finally free. Love, Thomas" Nathan (McKay) watches as Jacob (Sheppard), having assumed the life of his dead partner, disappears down the street.


	2. Rodney's POV

Rodney McKay was a brilliant man, something the world generally already knew, but also something that he would let anyone within earshot know given half a chance. Born into a small family, Rodney knew he was different than others from a very early age, and displayed as much when one Saturday morning, after hearing a radio broadcast of a Tchaikovsky concerto for the first time, he went to the family piano and reproduced it note for note. Not happy with just copying composers from radio broadcasts, by the time he's lost his first childhood tooth, he'd already composed several pieces of music. 

He was gifted academically as well, proven when he flushed through the entirety of high school curricula over the course of six months. But his parents, thinking he might skip and try to go right to college, were entirely wrong when they started entertaining offers from prestigious universities around the world. Rodney had wandered into his junior high's auditorium once, where the school's drama club had been in the early stages of the production of Agatha Christie's, _And Then There Were None_ and was instantly captivated. He'd approached the Drama group's coach and wormed his way into the production, which later, he credited with igniting his love of the craft, even if Mrs. McNaughton didn't take his suggestion of performing an alternate ending for each performance.

Rodney's love of creativity that high school and local theater groups provided him outlets for led him to graduate with his class, as any other child would. Plus, it helped that his sister Jeannie, who was just a couple of years younger than him and of which he felt protective, followed in his footsteps. He stayed in Vancouver, even as talent scouts hounded him so that he could be the artistic director for Jeannie's class's play, " _Romeo and Juliet_ ," which he'd rewritten to take place in a modern-day high school, the feuding families replaced with feuding classrooms. Of course, the school board had tried to nix the ending suicide scene. But after a passionate plea by Rodney, as well as a show of solidarity from _every_ school club that Rodney had been part of at his alma mater (all of which were flush with instruments and supplies supported by the generous contributions of Rodney's residuals from albums he'd composed), cooler heads prevailed. Of course, Rodney's words to the board had included "insufferably stupid," but were laughed off in the name of passion.

Once Jeannie had graduated high school, and Rodney had gotten her comfortably set up at the college of her choice, he booked movers and packed his things to head down to New York City. People told him that with his talents, he should live in Los Angeles because his future "would no doubt be in films." But Rodney's first real love was the stage. And what was there in the unnaturally sunny Los Angeles that could rival Broadway?

It took a few years of Rodney doing smaller plays, writing musical pieces that ranged from classical to commercial jingles, until he'd been given his big break. He was cast as the lead in an iconic Broadway performance of ' _Henry V_ ,' which caused as much of a such a stir that murmurs of a remake of Kenneth Branagh's classic movie made the rounds. Rodney hated Branagh, still sore from a snub the actor had given him when meeting at the stage door after Branagh finished a performance of ' _Richard III_ ' years before. So whenever Rodney found his face in the camera for an interview, he would always say, "Branagh. Isn't that the chap that directed that terrible superhero movie a few years back?" and then walk away.

Rodney's actions on stage or set didn't make him many friends with more than a handful of actors and directors. But he didn't care; if it wasn't his sister or the stage, screen, or his piano, it didn't matter all that much to him. Instead, he focused on turning the entertainment world on its ear. His breakout performance had been in an arthouse film about a schizophrenic concert pianist, that quickly thrust the movie into the spotlight. What was supposed to have been something seen by hundreds grew overnight into something shared with millions. Rodney didn't care; he knew it was good work and was annoyed when his phone rang one early January morning. Only two people had his phone number, his agent, Elizabeth Weir, and his sister. He'd picked his phone up, ready to scream at Jeannie for waking him up so early (like she had a few months back to say she was in labor and, "I'm pushing your god damned niece out into the world. Get your ass up here!"), but instead was greeted by Elizabeth's voice. "Rodney, you've been nominated for an Academy Award!" 

He told her thank you, then went back to bed. And when fending off press later on that day on his way to the Lyceum Theatre, while abrupt, he thanked everyone (an order by Elizabeth when she'd called back hours later) and said he wasn't going to comment, but instead focus on his upcoming play. And it had been more than annoying to have to take a few nights off from the performance to attend the Oscars, though again, with threats from Elizabeth, he went. He did, however, put his foot down when Elizabeth said he should attend with a date on his arm. She'd asked him about the psychologist he'd dated ("Elizabeth, that ended like six months ago!") as well as the stagehand she'd seen him with recently ("He was pretty, but completely vacant upstairs. Besides, do you _want_ me to introduce Ma and Pa Middle-America to the guy I met on Grindr?"), but neither was a go. So Rodney attended the Oscars and sat through the entire sufferable event, barely removing the scowl from his face when he climbed the steps to the stage to collect his trophy.

That may have been Rodney's first Oscars, but it would unquestionably not be his last. Though besides Meryl, the modern day Oscars had what some actors had called the Oscar curse, dubbed so by a few previous winners who found it hard to find work after winning their award, Rodney continued to be nominated and win, though not for acting. Not that he didn't put in worthy performances, because as Rodney would put it, he "could act laps around them and you know it!" whenever his name was bantered about with the likes of Hoffman, Hanks, or Freeman. One reporter found their interview stopped and Rodney walked out when he asked how Rodney compared himself to Matt Damon.

As the years went on, Rodney continued to focus on plays, winning Tonys, both acting and score. The mantle in his modest apartment, while massive, showed his prized possessions, with the Oscar relegated to a nearby shelf. Though that all changed the following year when his new score for the revival of ' _The Lieutenant_ ' was turned into a blockbuster. He was quite miffed when his score was nominated for an Oscar because that meant Elizabeth would force him to attend the ceremonies yet again - and he would, no doubt, be forced to interact with _him_. Kavanagh had put in a performance that was so clearly Oscar bait that Rodney had almost not allowed the music to be used. But Elizabeth, being the cooler head, prevailed. She even decided that _she_ would be Rodney's date that evening. And while she told Rodney it was because her husband would be gone for a month, Rodney thought the more likely explanation was to run interference between Rodney and his nemesis.

Rodney never slowed down, from composing music to writing short stories and screenplays, all the while continuously auditioning for new parts. He almost never took time off, save for the two weeks at Christmas he carved out every year to see his niece in Vancouver, fascinated at how she grew so fast. And like he'd planned out for Jeannie, Rodney planned out what he could for Madison, including starting a college fund for her, as well as anything else he could buy to help his brilliant niece grow. "I know you're an astrophysicist, and I'm pretty brilliant at anything I put my mind to, but she _did_ get half her genes from an English teacher." It was a comment he made often, and for each time it was made, received a bop on the head from Jeannie.

As Rodney walked back to his dressing room after the closing night of an off-off-Broadway version of Twelfth Night, something he had rewritten from Shakespeare's original and adapted to take place in an Iowa auto plant in the 1980s, he found a note taped to his dressing room mirror. Not that he hadn't expected it; he usually didn't like interruptions when he was doing a short play, something he'd impressed on Elizabeth years back. It was like clockwork; she would let him get whatever work he was doing out of his system, slip into his dressing room sometime after he'd taken to the stage in the last act of the play, and leave a note for him to call. Not that she needed to; from the moment he opened up the tiny room's door, he'd smelled the perfume that Elizabeth favored - something with hints of vanilla and gardenia. It was simple, yet elegant, much like Elizabeth was. Not that she was a simple woman; anyone who watched her negotiate found out the hard way. She was more like a diplomat, but with a quick wit that stung sharper than any blade.

Rodney pulled out his cell phone and texted the familiar number. It wasn't but a few seconds before there was a sharp rap at the door, and Elizabeth showed herself in. She was the definition of elegance, wearing an off-the-shoulder dress in a shimmering tone of blue that almost glowed in the dimmed lights of the room. "I'll catch a ride," she said to someone on the other side of the door, and Rodney watched as the door opened slightly, and Elizabeth's husband, Steven, leaned in slightly to kiss his wife on the cheek. The love he saw shared between Elizabeth and Steven was unmistakable, and something he figured he might want to get around to these days. It was just that, at least in his experience, dating was such a bother.

"Please, sit," Rodney said as he started to remove his makeup, though the sweat from the overhead lights and the mullet wig that he'd been fitted with had already started the process. "So what've you got?"

Elizabeth just smiled at him, hands clasped in her lap. "I'm well, Rodney, thank you for asking."

Looking up from his phone, Rodney realized that yes, niceties are something he shouldn't skip. Still, Elizabeth had been his agent for years and was quite used to his brusqueness. "Yeah, yeah," Rodney replied when he saw Elizabeth's brief smile. "I see you and Steven are still like two... I don't know. Happy things." 

"Tonight's our tenth anniversary," she replied. It was then that Rodney saw the shiny blue-stoned ring on her finger; sapphire, he'd guess. Elizabeth had never been one for traditions, so it Steven must have gotten her the ring as an anniversary gift, a stand-in for the band she never wore on her left hand. 

It was then that her words replayed in his head. "Wait. _Anniversary_?" He looked around. "Then what are you doing here? With me?"

"Rodney, relax," Elizabeth said as she leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. He knew his costume, oil-covered coveralls, could possibly stain her well-manicured fingers, but if she weren't concerned, he wouldn't be. "Anyway, I had a few things to talk to you about, now that you're coming free. And I wanted to talk to you before you went to the cast party." When he rolled his eyes, she added, "You know that Debra and Leon will be there. And your play, though brilliantly written, wouldn't have been able to be staged without their generous grant." 

With a sigh, Rodney said, "I guess I can give them a few minutes of my time." He smirked. "So anything good on the docket?"

Elizabeth, always organized, pulled a notepad and pen out of her elegant, but entirely too small, handbag. He'd once called her bag the TARDIS of purses based on the sheer volume of things she carried, in something that looked no larger than a change purse. "Showtime wants-"

" _No_!" Rodney declared without hearing her out. When it came to television, creativity wasn't just in the basement. It was in the second subbasement, underneath several tons of granite and the outflowings of a large cesspool. Non-network entities like Netflix and Amazon were trying to do away with the old, predictable, and horribly-sanitized way of television entertainment. But true creativity still lay with some movies and the stage.

"At least hear them out. It's a seven-year commitment for a science fiction series based on the lost city of Atlantis. It'll be a spinoff show of their other series, which is ending soon. The reason I haven't said no yet is that they're filming in Vancouver." Rodney looked up from his phone. "You'd be able to see Madison nine months out of the year."

Rodney hemmed and hawed a bit. "Let's put that in our back pocket for a little while," he said.

"It's not going to be open forever. We've got maybe six weeks before they're casting the parts, so if you've got any inkling to do this, you'll need to let me know." 

Another sigh. "I'm not down to _series_ work, am I? I mean theatrically? I can't have pissed off _that_ much of Hollywood that there's nothing out there for me but green screen and some CGI nerd's imagination, right?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Green screen's doing quite well right now," she said. "After all, even _Benedict_ has made his way into superhero movies lately. And Chris Evans seems to be doing quite well for himself."

"You've seen Avengers. Best part of that insipid series is whatever tight pants they seem to spray paint onto Chris's ass."

"Spoken like a true, dedicated thespian," Elizabeth said, her eyes crinkled up at the side as she smiled. She looked back down at her notepad. "Anyway, Ron Howard is producing a period piece, and your name came up as a possibility."

"Ron... What about-"

"I already asked," Elizabeth responded. "They went with Daniel Day-Lewis, who-"

"Who is twenty years too old for that part! And he _knows_ it. _They_ know it. What, did Ron lose _all_ his marbles in Mayberry? Jesus." Another role lost out to a hack who'd peaked ages ago. "That role was _mine_ , and everyone knows it."

"Yes, but the director is Villeneuve," Elizabeth said, and Rodney's face fell, "who you-"

"Yes, yes," Rodney said with a roll of his hand as if to say move on to the next project. "We all know how sensitive those damn Québécois can be. Make _one_ little suggestion-"

"Rodney," Elizabeth said, barely able to contain the smile on her face. "Your suggestion was _to have him fired_. And you made it to the producers of the film - for which he was nominated!"

"But he didn't win!" Rodney countered. He could do this all day. And besides, Villeneuve _had_ been a bit of a prima donna about the whole thing. 

Elizabeth went back to her list. "There are a couple of filmmakers interested in some of your short stories that you'd written a couple of years ago, and Barry wants to use one of your compositions for a new movie he's working on. I've already said yes since all the pieces they want to use are on my pre-approval list. And that brings me to the big one."

"Big one?" Rodney perked up. "I keep telling you, you should _always_ lead with the big one."

Elizabeth ignored him. "A couple years ago we had a request from a green screenwriter to rewrite a short story you wrote back when you still lived in Vancouver."

Rodney searched his mind, but the mundanity of offers for little-known writers was something he didn't keep track of. That's what he paid Elizabeth for. Still, there hadn't been that many from his early time, mostly because he hadn't published many of them. "Which one?" he finally asked when he couldn't pick out which one.

" _Into Madness_ ," Elizabeth replied.

"Oh, oh, oh, yeah," Rodney said. That had been one of his favorite short stories that he'd written soon after graduating high school. It still managed to creep him out, even to this day. The story had been about a woman who had lost her husband and small child to a traffic accident. She survived and was slowly driven mad by her guilt of surviving, while she was haunted by the handsome stranger that had witnessed the whole thing. By the end of the story, she had kidnapped the witness and made him tell her about that day, over and over until she heard sirens outside. With the gun pointed to her chest, she leaned down to kiss him and pulled the trigger just as the sirens passed by the house. "That was years ago," Rodney said. "Why are you bring it up now?" His mind raced, and though it was a short story, he figured someone must have optioned it. _Had_ to have.

"Well, Gus called."

"Gus?" Rodney searched his brain for all of two seconds before he realized. "Wait. _Gus van Sant_ called? Why the hell did you wait until now to tell me?" After a breath, he said, "Oh, _please_ tell me that hack didn't screw up my story! What was her name? Tayma? Teyana?"

"Her name is _Teyla_ ," Elizabeth clarified, "and Gus has optioned her script to make a film version. I've read the script, Rodney, and I think it's brilliant. She took what you'd originally written, and managed to up the creep factor even more."

Rodney's high suddenly escaped like so many wasted breaths. "Wait. So since it's _my_ original story, is Gus just calling to get my approval to move forward? Because it's not mine to give. It's that Teyla woman's. Our agreement was with her."

"No," Elizabeth said. "He wants you for one of the roles." She sat back, straightening a crease in her dress. She sometimes did that to Rodney, stretching out a point before making it. When she finally looked back into his eyes, she added, "The witness."

Rodney re-imagined the original manuscript in his head. The witness was a key role, though to be honest, it wasn't all that big. Still, it was something worthy of his talent - at least if this Teyla woman hadn't screwed it up to the point of mediocrity. But he'd turned even crappy scripts into gold in the past; he could do it again if the time called for it.

"Where's the script?" Rodney asked. "If Gus has optioned it, Teyla had to have produced an actual script."

Elizabeth reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Forwarding it to you right now. Call me when you get a chance to read it and let me know. Gus asked for you by name, and _not_ just because you wrote the source material." She stood up and smoothed another wrinkle in the material of her dress. "And not that you would care, but the script is still about a couple. Just now it's a _gay_ couple. That, and Miss Emmagan has changed the ending dramatically."

Gay couple. Rodney ran through the changes, replaying his original manuscript in his head with a gay couple instead of husband and wife. "Oh. Oh, wow. Yeah, that could work." He looked at his agent. "But Elizabeth? You think it's worth it?"

She nodded. "I think so," she said as she reached for the door. "I think it's quite good. And under the direction of a director like Gus, well... I don't want to jinx it, but this could be big for him."

The thought took Rodney back. "Bigger than ' _Idaho_ '?" he asked. ' _My Own Private Idaho_ ' had been a cinematic marvel, and Rodney held that van Sant had been robbed for not even being nominated, though he'd made up for it years later with the nomination for 'Milk.' Even though LGBT movies had been all the craze for the last decade and a half, it wasn't until just the past couple of years that Hollywood managed to shake off the shackles of homophobia and let directors, actors, and writer be truly celebrated for their work.

Elizabeth took a second, then slowly nodded again. "Just read it." 

Rodney's mind started to search, figuring out necessary shots, dialogue, and who he thought would be able to pull off the role. After a second, he heard Elizabeth clear her throat, so he looked up and caught her eye. She held his gaze until he agreed.

"Okay," she said, then leaned down and kissed Rodney on the cheek. And with a final nod, she made her exit.

She opened the door and managed to get one foot out before Rodney called her back. "Elizabeth?" She glanced back at Rodney, a questioning look on his face. "Who are they getting to play Grace? Sorry - the _male_ lead from Teyla's script? Do they have anyone in mind? Because I've got some ideas..."

Elizabeth studied him for a second, "You should really read the script first, Rodney. Don't think about anything else until you've read the script." 

He hated it when Elizabeth did that to him. It was almost as bad as when she had to break it to him that he'd lost out a role to someone he detested. Besides, if the script was as good as Elizabeth led him to believe, he knew he would be so emotionally attached to it that he'd do it no matter what. Still, her non-answer irked him. So he crossed his arms over his chest, squared his jaw, and asked, "Who?"

Elizabeth gave him her best smile as she once again smoothed out the material of her dress. "Gus wants to test John Sheppard."

Rodney's face immediately fell as Elizabeth slipped from the room, the sound of the lock echoing off the walls. He wasn't even sure if she heard him mutter the last words he'd say for the next few hours as silence once again overtook his dressing room. "Well, fuck."

~*~*~

Though he made it to the cast party and even pretended to be friendly with the show's benefactors, he spent most of the night huddled on a small chair that couldn't have been good for his back, reading his reimagined story. He had to admit that this Teyla Emmagan person, whatever stone she crawled out from under, was sharp. She'd reimagined his work with nuances that even he hadn't been able to imagine when he'd wrote the original piece years before. Then again, there was so much more that she could do with a gay couple that he silently cursed himself for not seeing the possibilities himself. At the end of the script, he'd read Gus's type-written notes and smiled happily to himself that _he_ was Gus's number one choice for the witness, now named Nathan. There was a series of question marks next to the name Jacob, who was the main character from the story. But at the bottom of the scanned document was a handwritten note. "Screen test John Sheppard. He and McKay appear like they may have good chemistry - GvS". 

Rodney's smile faded. So it was van Sant's idea to screen test, Sheppard. How in the hell could this even be possible? Sheppard was a hack of an actor who could play a wide range of characters; as long as that character was a one-dimensional space cowboy with the emotive qualities of a constipated badger. It may have sounded cruel and was a description he would share far and wide. But this story... It was undoubtedly going to be van Sant's masterpiece. And Rodney would be damned if some two-bit hack of an actor with the emotional range of a washing machine was going to ruin it, even if he _was_ one of the 'pretty ones.' Pretty was only able to get you so far in Hollywood, and actors like John Sheppard were a dime a dozen. True actors - Meryl, Denzel, Sir Alec, and yes, himself - were a gift to the world.

Though the battery was nearly drained on his phone, Rodney keyed in Elizabeth's cell number and was just about to hit dial when he realized what time it was. _And_ what day it was. So instead, he clicked over to Elizabeth's office number, dialed, and waited for it to go to her answering service. "Yes, good evening. Could you please take a message for Elizabeth? You can relay it in the morning. Tell her that Rodney will take the part. But for Christ's sake, let's do what we can to get Gus to rethink this Sheppard nonsense." After a pause, then read back, he said, "Yes, that's it. Deliver it in the morning when she calls in. No need to wake her tonight." And with that, he hung up the phone, and wandered back into the party to put up with the accolades for a performance he knew he nailed, though his mind distractingly stayed occupied on ' _Madness_.'


	3. John's POV

9 a.m. came far too early for John Sheppard. But his assistant's gentle knock and call of, "Boss?" woke him better than any alarm ever would. Besides, Evan didn't seem to have a snooze button. He knew that when he had a schedule to adhere to, his assistant would let him sleep as long as possible before waking him. And it wasn't like Nancy was there any more to give him an excuse to linger between the sheets. That ship had sailed so long ago, that he'd grown used to cool sheets the side of the bed closest to the window being as neat as when he went to sleep.

John stretched into the ray of sunshine that cut across his body like a thick blade. He dragged two dull fingernails across his belly, which was more rounded now than his youth. Yet there was still the hint of abs he maintained during a shoot hiding under a couple of extra pounds. "I'm up, Ev. Thanks."

"I've got a couple errands I need to run, so I'll meet you there?" 

Though it had been a question, John heard Evan's booted feet retreating before he could respond. Still, he called out, "See you there," then climbed out of his big, empty bed. He padded to his balcony and moved the sheer curtains to the side so he could watch the waves roll in; the tide must be out. The sight transfixed him for a few minutes, letting him find his zen. Shame he'd slept so long; with waves like Malibu produced this morning, a nice, long surfing session would have been in order. Still, maybe after his meeting, and as long as Evan didn't have anything planned for him, perhaps he could get a session in later. 

A whistle from down on the beach caught his attention, and John immediately made sure he was far enough into the shadows to not be seen. Paparazzi would probably pay a pretty penny for John standing naked in his bedroom, even if he wasn't A-list anymore. His place in Malibu was mostly secluded, except for his beachfront access - to a public beach. Even with the threat, the sound of rolling waves that lulled him to sleep every night and called him out to surf whenever he could manage it was worth the diligence. 

He scanned the beach to see where the whistle came from and saw a familiar figure; his neighbor Charlie. He was out on the beach with his dog, something he'd done quite a bit of since he'd lost his sitcom years back. Nice guy, but troubled. But living comfortably in a giant house and spending your copious free time on the beach with your dog? At least he had his priorities.

John let go of the curtain, stretched, and then walked to his oversized bathroom to get ready for the day. He turned on the water, then ran his fingers across the tile Nancy'd picked out when they'd remodeled the house. And when the water was warm enough, he stepped underneath the dual streams and washed away the memories of abandoned dreams he'd had overnight.

~*~*~

Less than two hours later, John walked into his agent's office with a smile on his face and bags under his eyes. He wasn't as fresh-faced and agile as he was when he walked through those same doors and into Samantha Carter's office a dozen years back. He wasn't quite as popular, either. But still, he was making movies that, while a bit stale, kept him busy and afforded him a comfortable life. Being in Carter's office amongst headshots of new talent, some that looked as if they were skipping tenth-grade trigonometry to look for acting jobs, reminded him that at 38, he was starting to age out of roles. Not because he was over the hill, but because casting directors were always on the lookout for the next big thing. It didn't matter that John could still help pad the box office when his name was on the marquee, given the right storyline, director, and - especially important these days - a good CGI team. Still, the number of offers he'd receive from his start in Hollywood to today went from more than he could handle, to just enough to keep him busy.

Hollywood could be a cruel mistress.

"Hey, boss," John's assistant called from a nearby hallway as he jogged to catch up. Lorne was the detail-oriented person that John could count on when it came to his business affairs. Like John, Evan had done some modeling and a bit of acting when he was younger. But a year into it when John was shooting what would be his third billion-dollar movie, John found Evan organizing the extras during the downtimes between shots. He was so impressed that John talked Evan out of a career in films and into his PA role. Evan, who still did modeling from time to time, was the person who kept John's life in order, from casting calls to event appearances, to the never-ending publicity rounds that movies were so dependent on these days. 

John looked around. "What're you doing here already?" he teased. "I don't see David, so you can't be flirting." John gave his PA the most innocent smile and got a smirk in return.

"We were, uh, in the back." Evan dared to blush so deep it made John grin.

"Wait. I'm not paying you to make out with my agent's assistant, am I? Remind me to check your contract next time we renew."

"Who's making out with who, now?" Samantha added as she walked out of a nearby office. "John," she said as John kissed her cheek. "Come in, come in." She gestured to the giant mahogany doors that led to the biggest office in Carter & Associates. Doors John was pretty sure his first two movies had paid for.

Evan held the door for them both, then said, "I'll get you some coffee, Shep." He looked up at Sam and asked, "You want some, Miss Carter?"

"Sit down, Evan," she directed. "David can do that."

Evan winked. "I'll just go help," and then closed the door behind him.

"Those two, I swear..." John laughed. "How in the hell do they find the time, anyway? I mean Evan and I keep pretty busy. But it's probably easier now that they moved in together."

"They're looking at adopting," Sam said as she pulled out a folder from her desk.

John didn't let it show, but panic overtook him momentarily. He'd never been so organized as he was now. But then again, he might just sci-fi himself out of Hollywood. He ran his hand over his face in frustration, though he covered it up when Carter gave him a questioning glance. "Looks like I may have to change up our insurance plans," he lied when in truth he knew that Evan with kids would inevitably lead to John without the best PA he'd ever had. He tried to strike it from his mind; no sense in worrying about it until the paperwork was signed and was offering up babysitting services to the happy couple.

"Anyway," Sam said as she pulled out a few pages from the folder, "We've got some interesting stuff to talk about."

"Let me guess," John drawled as he sprawled out in the chair. He rested his chin on his hand and cocked an eyebrow at Sam. His expression dulled at the options he knew were written on the paperwork spread halfway across Sam's desk. "Space pirate? Space cowboy? Space marine? Or space explorer?"

"There's a space _junkie_ this time," Sam said as she pulled out a role sheet. It wasn't for any director he'd ever heard of before, and he figured it was probably another one of those straight to DVD projects. He'd gotten no end of ribbing from Ronon when he'd taken one of those before, but he couldn't help it. The money had been too good. And besides, it'd been a back-end TV pilot, and the script wasn't half bad. While he definitely wasn't hurting for money, a seven-year TV contract would give him steady work and assure him a healthy retirement, even without his father's money. "Oh yeah, and a couple Japanese commercials. You know they love you over there in Japan, John."

He looked at the spec sheets for the commercials and nodded. "Say yes to those," he said. He didn't know what was so special about square watermelons, or a new Yuzu flavored soda. But the money was always good, and it helped grow his fan base around the world. 

There was a piece of light green paper with some scribbled notes on it that caught his eye. "What's that one?"

Sam just smiled. It was the same smile she'd had when she'd found the role that took John from lower D-list status, right up to the upper echelons of A-list. "This one's... Well, let's just say it's not in your regular wheelhouse. But it's..." She quirked her head to the side her eyes crinkled, and she settled on, "interesting."

"Interesting _good_ , or interesting _bad_?" John asked. He took the page and did a quick read through of the main plots. As he did, he felt a gentle tingling in his chest and scratched an itch that tickled at the back of his neck. He turned the paperwork sideways to read the handwritten note that included his name. "Gus? You don't mean-"

"Gus Van Sant. Yes," Sam said as a smile bloomed on her face. "You interested?"

Like she even had to ask. "He wants _me_ to read for it?"

Sam sat back in her chair as she bobbed her head. "Apparently, when he read the screenplay, yours was the first name that came to mind. He thinks you and McKay would have good chemistry."

" _Fuck_..." John muttered. "A chance to work with a legendary director _and_ an actor I look up to?" Almost instantly his eyes went dark. "Wait a minute. What's the catch?" he asked. He'd been in Hollywood far too long and knew good things almost always came with a catch. "Shit, I don't care who I have to blow," he said, which caused Sam's eyebrows to shoot up. "I want this."

Sam sat up a little straighter. "You don't have to blow _anybody_...unless you...want...to?" she said, her voice going up at the end of the sentence. "Uh, John? Is there anything..."

John waved her question off. "Figure of speech," he said. Then he gave her a wink, and added, "Well, _mostly_."

Sam let go of an easy laugh. "You may play the toughest guy in any galaxy, but you, John Sheppard, have hidden depths."

"Oh no," John said, "I've never done _that_ before."

"Never done what before, boss?" Evan asked as he walked in with a small tray littered with two cups of coffee and a few bottles of water. 

John looked up at him, and nonchalantly said, "Anal."

John almost never caught Evan off guard. But he couldn't help himself when Evan stutter-stepped as he approached the desk. At least for Evan's sake, he managed to put the tray down without spilling a drop. After a second, Evan glanced down at John, leaned in, and whispered, "Do I need to give you two a few minutes, boss?"

"What, so you can spend more time with your boyfriend on company time?" John teased Evan a lot, and most of the time Evan gave it right back. But something in Ev's eyes held a degree of uncertainty, so John gave him a wink. "We're just talking about a picture with Gus Van Sant," he said. "There _is_ already a script, right?" A moment of panic swept over John. "Please tell me there's a script."

John watched as Evan took out his notebook, then as Sam pulled a legal-sized binder from the desk drawer. "You'll want to read it and get back to me before we go forward," she said. The script didn't look all that thick, but dramatic pieces could be like that. Sometimes they had minimum dialogue and leaned harder on directing, music, and cinematography more than anything else. The synopsis he'd read was heavy as is; this was going to be a psychological mixup more than anything else. Mentally, he was already preparing himself to take the job, though he knew he shouldn't. If he didn't test well with McKay, then the project would stop right there. McKay was notoriously hard to work with, as evidenced by not just stories he'd heard around town. Sam, herself, was a fan of his work, but as she'd said once when his name had come up before, "Fan of the actor, _not_ the man." 

He glanced at the spec sheet again, re-reading it carefully. It said the piece was adapted from McKay's own work. So to him, John felt as if McKay was on the hook for the project - and John was just a possibility. He sure as hell hoped to be more than just a possibility because the spec sheet alone was good. The weight of the script in his hand felt heavy.

"How is it?" John asked, knowing full well Sam would have already read the material. And she wouldn't have brought it up if she didn't think it was worthy of John's time.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sam sat back in her chair, took a deep breath, and steepled her fingers. "You know van Sant is, in his own way, brilliant," she said. Both John and Evan nodded. "McKay is brilliant all over. I mean, brilliant actor, brilliant composer. And he's written more than his fair share of material, most of which would be cinematically challenging, but brilliant if it made its way to the screen." She picked up the notebook. "But this," she said, "the right material, with the right actors," and she nodded to John, "and the right director." She sat back again, "I don't think I would be exaggerating if I said it could be a fucking goldmine."

John greedily leaned up and took the notebook. He hugged it to his chest as if it were threatening to run away.

"It could also be a landmine, too, John," she said. 

The words stopped John, and suddenly the binder felt as if it would cave into his chest, it was so heavy. To hide his discomfort, he took the notebook and handed it to Evan. "What'd'ya mean?" John asked.

With a heavy sigh, Sam sat forward, clasped her hands in her lap, and said, "This isn't just a gay role. It's a _married with a kid_ , oh and by the way, lose your mind through mental breakdown type of gay role." She looked at John. "Not that the subject matter should make any type of difference to you. I mean nobody thinks Anthony Hopkins is out to eat their liver or anything."

"But dude is still creepy as fuck," Evan added. He looked at John, then dropped his voice to something close to a whisper. "Sorry, boss."

John appreciated Evan's opinion, so he waved it off. And yeah, Evan was right. Anthony Hopkins, Oscar royalty or not, was indeed creepy as fuck. John tried not to watch ' _Silence of the Lambs_ ' after dark for a reason. He'd met Hopkins once before at a fundraiser, and couldn't help but shiver after he walked away, and knew the gooseflesh that he held wasn't because of who Hopkins was. It was Hopkin's smile, and his low, "Hello, John," that creeped him out.

It was memorable enough to give John the heebie-jeebies, the sensation of cold dancing over his skin even in the warm room. 

After John considered it some more, he finally shook his head. "No. You know what?" He took the binder back from Evan and gestured with it. "This - _this_ \- could reimagine my whole career." He chuffed out a laugh and turned to Evan. "I mean this script? Gus?" He shook his head again. "This could redefine me as an actor, and I might be able to get out of the damned science fiction rut that I've been in for the last ten years."

Sam considered it, then sat back up. "I think it could, John. But as your agent, you know I have to tell you the good and the bad. You pay me to be truthful and not to blow smoke up your ass." 

John smiled; he liked it when Sam was straight with him.

"But as I said, this isn't just a gay movie. You can do that these days with hardly a risk to your career, even if science fiction is the least-likely type of fanbase to accept gay characters. But this thing is tackling some pretty big taboos. You've got a good eight to ten good years as a leading man in science fiction if you want it-"

"You think this'll chase my fans away?" John asked. He was almost hurt by the thought and knew his tone was more accusatory than not. 

The tension in the room was thick. "I'm not saying that _exactly_ ," Sam replied. "But like any role, you have to watch where you've been, and look out in the direction you want to go."

John considered her words carefully, thoughts tumbling through his mind. At least there'd been some precedent in science fiction. Then again, that precedent was Barrowman, a man crazier than any dozen men John had ever met. And Barrowman's fans seemed to be even more mad about the man than his roles. 

"Gus _did_ say that he wanted me, specifically," John stated. He held Samantha's gaze, and knew she wanted him to say 'Fuck it,' and to go for it. But at the same time, she had to hold his best interests at heart, even when John wasn't able to. "Then I don't see a way to turn the man down," John finally said after considering his options. "Set it up."

"Good," Sam said as she started to jot a few things down on a notepad. "I'll have David coordinate with..." she said, then gestured to Evan. "You've still got publicity for ' _Gateships_ ' to finish, right?"

Instead of John, Evan turned in his notebook and read the page. "He's free after Thursday morning shows," Evan reported. "Oh, and the premier and party that night."

Publicity; it was a necessary evil for movies. It was something John loved doing early on but had dragged on his nerves more and more like an aching tooth when you're overdue dental appointment. 

"Good," Sam replied. "I'll set something up for early next week." She stood, and with a handshake and a nod, John and Evan left her office.

John stopped at his oversized cubbie where all his fan mail was sorted and stacked. Well, not _all_ of it. Rather, it was the pieces that Sam and her staff felt deserved his attention. The rest was either scanned for record keeping and then tossed, or replied to with whatever his latest headshot was, along with a stamped signature. His stack never seemed to dwindle, even when he'd put out lemons over the years. And he had to smile when he saw his pile was bigger than Jeri's. Sure, Jeri was a good actress. But it'd been years since she'd played that Borg character and she was doing more conventions than acting gigs as of late. At least he was able to grow older with his roles; actresses like Jeri Ryan were forced out when they put on a couple more pounds than "they" - the producers, directors, and just about any chauvinistic male in charge - deemed appropriate, or reached age 35, whichever came first.

After he sorted through his stack, Evan finally approached him, no doubt having already said goodbye to his boyfriend. "Drive up the coast?" John asked as he tossed Evan the keys.

Evan just smiled his response. "Usual route?" he asked as he let the keys flip around his finger, then cupped them.

John nodded. It was his usual M.O. when he had something on his mind, a script to read, or just needed to clear his head. Evan would get them out of Hollywood and onto the 101, then drive up the coast for about an hour, park at a beach for a little while, then drive John back home. Couple three hours was usually more than enough. Plus, that much time would allow him to read the script at least twice.

~*~*~

John didn't realize that they'd pulled into the driveway until Evan turned the car off, the keys jangling in his hand to get his attention. "So, what do you think, boss?"

John tried to talk but found himself parched for lack of speaking the last two hours. He reached for a bottle of water, which Evan unscrewed and handed to him. The script had been... "Fuck," he finally said after struggling with what to say. "This is... This is _heavy_ ," he finally settled on as he gestured with the notebook. "But it's perfect - you know?"

"Want me to read it?" Evan asked. He usually read John's scripts, both him and David. And even though this one felt so special that John wanted to protect it, as evidenced by the way he hugged it to his chest, he knew Evan should read it. "It's okay to say no," Evan added, and John knew that whatever vibe he was giving off, Evan should read it.

The second car pulled into the driveway, David behind the wheel. Evan and David lived in the guest cottage on the side of John's property. John thought it might be awkward at first, what with his employee living on the property with him. But it'd just made sense to let them have it. Besides, it allowed Evan work late without John _or_ David worrying about driving home when he was tired, and it let John take the cottage off as a business expense. "You and David're talking about kids, right?" John asked, his mind on the script's subject matter.

A blush quickly suffused across Evan's face, and they both turned and waved to David as he got out of the car, winked, and started walking to the fence. "Sorry, boss," Evan said as his attention went back to John. "I was gonna tell you first, but Sam overheard David on the phone."

"No, no, no," John replied as he handed over the script. "That's cool. I just... This is about a dude who loses his husband and child. I know you can separate yourself from the story, but David..."

Evan slowly nodded as the subject matter sank in. "I get it," he finally said. "How 'bout you leave it on the counter and I read it in the morning."

That sounded like the best idea ever, so John agreed. "You boys going out tonight?"

"Oh, David's gonna grill. So if you want to come over-"

John held up a hand and stopped him. While he loved and appreciated Evan and David both, he knew the importance of the couple having their time away from him. "But thanks," he said.

"Anytime, boss," Evan said. They both got out of the SUV, then parted ways at the gate. John walked up the stairs and watched as Evan reached out and took David into his arms. He felt a little voyeuristic. Then again, _someone_ should be getting regularly laid on his property if he wasn't. After watching for another few seconds, he walked into the house, grabbed a beer from the cavernous refrigerator, and then went to sit on the deck to watch the tide roll in. He wasn't even upset when Evan's pacing woke him up the next morning, and he found Evan, script in hand, saying, "Oh, Shep. You've _got_ to take this role!"


	4. Rodney's POV

Rodney couldn't sleep. He'd read through the script before bed - twice - even though he knew that it was a bad thing to do. But he also knew that he wanted the screen test to be unencumbered by anything; Sheppard was going to be enough of a crapshoot just being there. And Rodney wanted this to be _perfect_. So after tossing and turning for a couple of hours, he got up and walked to the tiny, sparsely decorated living room in his modest condo. He spent his _real_ life in New York, where he owned a palatial-like (at least by New York standards) apartment in The Village. But because he had to spend, by his standards, far too much time in Los Angeles, he maintained a condo just south of LA proper, in Inglewood. The closeness to Hollywood and all the major studios was convenient, especially when he had to do media coverage. But the closeness to LAX, where sleek tubes of carbon fiber shuttled him between the coasts in five hours as he worked on whatever creative urge kept him up at night, was the real factor for him choosing it.

He stumbled into the living room and flicked on the television, clicking past rerun after infomercial and found nothing worthy of his time. Not that there was much worthy on TV, because there was usually a bit of something to watch on one of the classic movie channels. But as he clicked over, he somehow realized that classics like ' _Casablanca_ ' or ' _African Queen_ ' had been tossed out the window, no doubt by some just out of braces twenty-something first time corporate executive, and had somehow been replaced by a teen comedy from the 1980s. And though ' _The Breakfast Club_ ' had been something of a phenomenon when he was a child, to find it on Turner Classic Movies had been as disappointing as his last three dates. 

Because he was a bastard, to himself most of all, Rodney decided that insomnia wasn't going to be punishment enough. He clicked over to the Pay Per View channel and scrolled through until he found just the right title. "Bingo," he said as he settled back into the couch. As the credits started to scroll, Rodney smiled smugly; 'John Sheppard as Ranger Murdoch.' It was Sheppard's last big space-Western, which Rodney could have told everyone involved would flop. Sure, ' _Firefly_ ' had been a phenomenon back in the day. But whatever dreck of a person they'd found to produce this piece of cinematic trash had tried to jump onto the bandwagon. The movie had flopped so hard that it barely made it's original budget back. Not that Rodney would have known that little tidbit of information before last week. Before he and Elizabeth discussed the movie, he barely knew how to spell Sheppard. But as Rodney prepared for the role in ' _Madness_ ,' he read up on everything he could about the life of the man van Sant - for whatever reason - wanted to cast him in. "Know your enemy, indeed," Rodney'd muttered as he settled in, sipped on a cup of coffee, and longed for something to munch on if only to still his fidgeting hands.

A knock on the door woke Rodney sometime later, Chuck's usually chipper, "McKay? You up?" coming through as his assistant opened the door and barged into the condo.

"Huh? What?" he said as he sat up and stretched. "Oh, ow," he muttered as he reached for his lower back. He hated falling asleep in his overstuffed armchair for this specific reason; it was murder on his back. "What time is it?"

Chuck rolled his eyes as he handed over the tallest mug of coffee Starbucks had to offer, then offered a muffin from the other. "Almost eight," Chuck replied. "You wanted me to get you up early, in case you needed to prepare." Chuck made himself busy with a stack of letters on the table; as Rodney's assistant, Chuck coordinated the business side of Rodney's life. Rodney kept him on retainer for whenever he was going to be working either in Los Angeles or shooting a movie on location somewhere. Chuck wasn't needed as much in New York, especially if Rodney was writing, composing, or acting in a play. Then again, he realized that Chuck stayed busy pretty much all the time, as Rodney's shadow in Los Angeles, but flitted in and out of Rodney's life when he didn't even realize he needed it all other times. "Why'd you sleep in the chair?" Chuck asked. Then Chuck's eyes went to the television, where the promo for Sheppard's 'space ranger' movie still played. "You seriously watched that?" he asked.

Rodney wasn't going to dignify that question with a response.

As he yawned, he realized the question Chuck _didn't_ ask, and that was if he'd gotten enough sleep. He must look six shades of crap, then. As he yawned, he scrubbed his hand over his face, then took a sip of the dark, rich brew. Not sleeping before a play wasn't an issue. But because he lived more in the composer, writer, and stage world, there was something about the movie world that didn't sit well with him; it made him a little unsure of himself. _Not_ something Rodney would typically admit to anyone, though he remembered that he'd done so after Chuck plied him with a fancy bottle of wine the night before principal photography was to start on the last movie Rodney shot. But this? This was just a screen test with a two-bit hack of an actor. What did Rodney have to be nervous about?

"You're nervous because it's your original work," Chuck said, clearly clairvoyant. It was the only thing about Chuck that annoyed Rodney; he _liked_ being the quiet, mysterious one. But no matter what, Chuck could see right through him. 

"Yeah, I suppose," Rodney muttered. He stumbled toward the bathroom, then diverted to his closet to get some clothes. He wouldn't come out of the bathroom naked - not again at least. Chuck put up with a lot, but watching his PA trying to be nonchalant as Rodney trekked bare-assed across the room looking for clothes was probably not worth the job. 

After a shower, Rodney - partially dressed - leaned out of the bathroom and got Chuck's attention from whatever paperwork he was going over at the small kitchen table. Whatever it was, it involved Rodney's checkbook and a book of stamps; must be paying bills. There was a travel mug, no doubt filled with coffee, sitting on the table. Rodney rinsed, then walked over to grab the coffee and took another sip. "What's good to eat out here?" he asked. "You're from here. Anything good for breakfast? Maybe that Jennifer you're dating knows of someplace."

Chuck cut his eyes at Rodney. "I'm no longer dating Jennifer Keller. But _you knew that already_ , didn't you?" It was a subject that Rodney liked to poke at because of course, he'd been right. "Besides, she moved back up to Wisconsin to be with her dad."

"I mean, come on. Who the hell comes from a place called Chippewa Falls, anyway? Besides not having an accent. I mean, you can't trust someone who says they're from Wisconsin but doesn't have an accent. That Canadian-wannabe state exports exactly two things," he started, then counted out on his fingers as Chuck repeated with him, "Cheese and accents." Okay, so maybe it was a point Rodney'd driven home before. On more than one occasion. There was a beat, then another. So before the silence could stretch, Rodney snapped his fingers. "Well come on with it. Some of us have to stave off hypoglycemia here."

He watched as Chuck took his time finishing a couple of bills, then sealed the envelopes. After entirely too long of a pause, Chuck got up from the table and stuffed the mail in his backpack. "I made arrangements for a table at Flore," he said.

Flore... It sounded familiar, but Rodney couldn't place it at first. And then it hit him. "Wait a minute. You made me reservations at a _vegan_ cafe?"

"Oh, is that the vegan one?" Chuck asked as one of his eyebrows lifted skyward. He wasn't fooling Rodney one bit. Rodney would get him back. Maybe not today, but some time.

Clearly, Chuck had won this round, but Rodney wasn't going to push it. "If you're conspiring with my cardiologist, it's not going to work," he warned.

Chuck manhandled him out the door. "I wouldn't dream about it," he deadpanned, then shut the door behind them.

~*~*~

Rodney walked into Searchlight's corporate offices, not quite sure where to go. But Chuck's touch on the elbow gave him all the direction that he needed, and after half a dozen corners and two staircases, they found themselves on a soundstage. It wasn't a full-sized soundstage, more like something for recreating a small room for a film shoot. Everything was there, from multiple cameras, booms, to directors chairs. And there was something else - but it wasn't physical. It was a tune, hummed by someone hidden. There was something soft, yet unsettling to it that made Rodney feel uncomfortable. The only way he could describe it was walking next to a fire truck on the sidewalk; it created a vibration in his chest that made him physically uncomfortable.

"What is that-" he said. But before he could finish, he watched a dark, messy-haired bohemian looking man walk out from behind a curtain. " _You_ ," Rodney said, but almost immediately wanted to take it back. He'd hurled the word more like an accusation than a greeting. "I mean, it's _you_ ," he said, softening his voice to try and make nice. "Rodney McKay." He stepped forward and held out his hand.

The other man smiled, the disconcerting hum finally silenced,and the room returned to a quiet mumbling of voices. "John Sheppard," he said by way of introduction. "I'm a big fan of yours, McKay," he said as he enthusiastically shook Rodney's hand.

"Yes. Thank you," Rodney said with a smile on his face. "Oh, and me, too. You're... Well, you're very remarkable for what you do," he said.

Sheppard smiled and almost looked a bit full of himself. And what Rodney had said was technically true; he didn't lie. There was no purpose to start out a working relationship with a lie. But yet, he also didn't want to mention that the term he used didn't always mean good. He'd chosen the word 'remarkable' distinctively for that reason. "I do okay," Sheppard replied, then gave a smirk like he knew Rodney's true meaning. "But your work here - the original short story? It's _remarkable_." Sheppard held out a hand, "Not that your other works haven't been amazing as well. I mean ' _Dream Notes_ ' was an astonishing piece of film. You deserved that Oscar. But the piece you wrote for this. It's...indescribable." 

Rodney rolled back on his heels as he preened like a peacock. But he didn't let it go to his head too much, because he had only been the originator. "Well, I wrote the short story called ' _Into Madness_ ' that this new woman. Teyma? Teylama?"

"Teyla Emmagan," John offered, a smug smile on his face.

"Yes, her. Well _she_ wrote the screenplay. So it's her you should be thanking." 

John nodded his head. "Still. You laced the boot. Miss Emmagan just tied the knot."

'Colorful idioms,' Rodney thought, even as he felt a grimace blossom across his face. Sheppard wasn't just a hack, but a hick as well. "Well, thank you."

Rodney abhorred small talk, and based on the look Sheppard held at that moment, looked like he excelled at it. "Well, I," he said as he backed away and turned to Chuck, who conveniently had disappeared, talking to a man who looked almost identical to Sheppard. He snapped his fingers, then almost grimaced yet again when Chuck rolled his eyes. "Hey, do you have the..." he said and took the distraction of Chuck handing him his backpack. 

He was two hands deep when he heard Sheppard make his own excuses. "Well, I'm just gonna," he said as he hiked his thumb over his shoulder. And just like that, Sheppard had disappeared - and the ache in Rodney's chest came back when the hum hit his ears.

After a few minutes, the room started to fill with people Rodney mostly didn't recognize. He and Sheppard were the top names in the film, so he figured there wouldn't be anyone else there that he would recognize. The film would revolve around Sheppard's character Jacob and Rodney's character Nathan, so they were the only big names needed. The characters of Thomas and their daughter were, while significant to the script, insignificant in terms of screen time. Rodney doubted either of them would be known; there was no sense in casting anyone that would stretch the budget on what was already going to be more arthouse than box office budget-breaker of a film.

There was a gentle commotion as someone entered the room, speaking in soft tones to the telephone he held up to his ear. The whole room quieted, and when the new stranger noticed, he said, "I'll call you back," in a soft voice with a touch of a simpler, West Coast accent. "Sorry, sorry," he said as he glanced around the room. And though to look at him, you would consider how he held himself to be somewhat meek, he commanded the room like the genius filmmaker that he was. "Hi, everyone," he said, voice still on the quiet side of normal. "I'm Gus. And you must be Rodney McKay," he said, shaking Rodney's hand. "It's an honor. And you," he said as Sheppard appeared from behind the dark, crushed-velvet curtains, "you're John. Gus. So good to finally meet you. To meet you both."

Gus gave the minimal direction to the audience, and Rodney wasn't too proud to admit that he stood there mesmerized. What Gus wanted to do was simple, but yet, brilliant. It almost irked him; if only directing was this simple, this natural for him. Give him a score to write, or a scene to block, and he was perfect; there was a natural progression that Rodney inherently knew. Find the recipe and follow it every time and you will achieve perfection. But directing wasn't something Rodney was comfortable with. So even though he had thoughts on the scenes for ' _Madness_ ,' he let Gus call the shots, and kept his opinions to himself.

There was a first time for everything.

"Rodney," Gus said, which took Rodney out of his head for a moment. "We're going to do your scene with John in a few minutes. But before we do that, we need to make sure John's chemistry is right with his partner."

"What about John and me?" Rodney asked, shocking himself that he'd questioned Gus. He'd not meant to be defensive, but wasn't today all about him and John? Their chemistry? But also for John to fall on his face so Rodney could suggest maybe someone with _real_ acting chops to hold down the true weight of Jacob's character?

Gus just shook his head. "You two will be fine, I can tell. I... I just know these things, okay? But we're going to test anyway." He turned to the casting director, a severe-looking woman dressed in all black who looked like she could take on the entire room - and win. "Larrin, could you please send in our Thomases, please?"

Larrin quickly nodded, then headed out, so Gus continued. "I told casting that for Thomas, I want someone that is opposite Jacob. Careless where Jacob is careful. Loud where Jacob is soft. Learned where Jacob is smart. These two characters need to get along like yin and yang; two halves of a whole. So that when Thomas and Isabella are killed, it's that brick that comes out of Jacob's foundation that leaves his emotional house in shambles."

It was brilliant in its simplicity because, in the original story, Jacob's character was stable. Rodney could imagine that there would be shots of the happy family at home, around town, and just simply being one whole unit. But with the death of Thomas and Isabella, Jacob would fall to pieces. 

Rodney suddenly frowned. Was it just _that_ simple? It couldn't be.

Just in case, Rodney leaned closer to Gus. "So what about Nathan? What is he like?" Rodney already had his idea what Nathan was like, but he wanted to hear it from Gus. It was essential to know how he was going to approach his character, what to pull from his training, from his background. Because even though Nathan was more of a minor role, Rodney had already started to construct an entire backstory. It was part of his process, something that had earned him every accolade over the years.

Gus looked at him but was quickly distracted by the procession of hopeful, blond actors that streamed into the room. "One sec," he said, then reached into the bag next to him. He pulled out a pale, plastic-looking object, called, "Sheppard!" and then tossed the object to him. It took Rodney a second to realize that it was a doll. A small, naked, plastic doll that flew through the air to Sheppard's outstretched arms where he caught and immediately tucked it into his side like this was some kind of sporting event. "Okay, I need my Thomases, please?" he called, and a dozen blond haired actors immediately turned their attention to the audience. Rodney took them down one by one - the first one was way too young, the second two too old. Numbers four, seven, and eight looked the be the best contenders, and his money was on seven. He gave seven a 45% chance of getting the role. Number eight came in next at 35%, and the numbers went down from there.

"Where's our photographer?" Gus called.

A geeky looking man got up and stood in the front with enough camera equipment to rival any ten paparazzi. Rodney noted Sheppard's bristle; paparazzi were a part of regular life. Rodney ignored them, but based on the look Sheppard held, he'd had his fill of them as well. Then again, Sheppard was _mainstream_ , a dirty word in Rodney's vocabulary.

"Okay," Gus said as he clasped his hands together. "We're going to treat this a little like family portrait day. "Sheppard, imagine you and your husband just walked into J.C. Penny Portrait Studio with your three-week-old baby girl. I want each Thomas, in turn, to lean in with Sheppard for your portraits. You're both proud poppas, exhausted but happy that you were just able to take your new baby girl home. Today's the first day you've left the house in two weeks, and Thomases, you insisted on capturing the moment. And even though you're not quite dressed for it, have spit-up on your shoulder, are sure Isabella has a load in her diaper, and sniped at each other all morning as to whose turn it was to change her next, as soon as you stepped in front of the camera, you let all of that baggage fall away - but not too far. All your character can think about as the camera lens clicks is being the best dads to this little girl you could possibly be."

The guy playing photographer stepped in front of them, and one by one, each Thomas took their spot. Rodney would have slipped into character before the first Thomas leaned in, and stayed that way the whole time; it was his method. But he watched, somewhat agitated as Sheppard took his time before they both turned to the camera, and had a quieted, intimate confab. Not much more than a dozen words, but Rodney could tell the differences between each blond as they took their place at Sheppard's side. He watched as Sheppard varied himself, being playful with one Thomas, then playing up how tired they both were with the next. 

"Okay," he said quietly, though he didn't mean to actually say it out loud. Still, he must have said it quiet enough, because Gus didn't stir; instead, he watched intensely as he cut half of the actors, then had the other half go through again. It annoyed Rodney that he wasn't entirely right about Sheppard; there was a tiny bit more to him than just monosyllabic dialogue and the occasional grunt. But he still wasn't sure Sheppard's casting was right.

Rodney sat up a little more smugly when Gus called for Thomas number eight to step forward again and dismissed the rest of the lot. "How good are you at improv, number eight?"

The poor guy looked like a deer in the headlights. He couldn't have been in the business more than a couple of years, and this was likely his biggest callback to date. "I can guide him through it," Sheppard offered.

"Good, good," Gus said. "Now remember that fight you had that morning? I want you both to re-live it. But remember, you _just_ got Isabella to sleep, you haven't showered in two days, you're hungry, and you can both feel the pull of a warm blanket from that big bed where you went through profile after profile of surrogates until you settled on just the right one. That bed has been what's both grounded you, and caused fights." He looked at both of them, as Rodney studied the scene; he'd heard Gus was eccentric, but this was just odd. "Take a second to prepare, and then go."

Rodney watched as John, again, seemed to transform himself with the subtlety of someone twice his caliber. His whole demeanor changed, and suddenly he even had the body language of someone who was sleep deprived and so close to the edge that the smallest of breezes would topple him. Sheppard brought up the first volley, and Rodney watched as he and number eight tiredly, yet quietly, argued with each other. They seemed to play off each other so well that Rodney could almost buy that they had been coupled for half a decade, and not slept in the last few days.

Again, Sheppard showed he had a bit more than one dimension to him. Rodney chalked it down to being a fluke, though. The alternative would be to instead let Sheppard out of the pre-determined cage that he'd shoved him in deep inside his imagination. Jacob and Thomas were in the middle of whisper-screaming at each other about whose turn it was to sterilize nipples when Gus called, "Thank you!" above the conversation. "Number eight, please talk to Larrin about next steps, okay?"

The mini staging dispersed, and people began to mill about. Rodney was about to get out of his chair since he assumed he and John's test were next when Gus turned to him. "Nathan is quiet, analytical. He has a high-stress job at a local children's hospital where he's an oncology pharmacist. Nothing worse than a little kid with cancer. So for Nathan, the death of Jacob's only child weighs heavily on him. Now Jacob and Nathan... I see them as _different_ than Jacob and Thomas," he started, not bothering to explain what different actually meant. Rodney sat back down in his seat, eager to take in each word. After a pause, Gus added, "If Jacob and Thomas were yin and yang, then Jacob and your character, Nathan, are yin and yin; two halves of the same piece. Like two poles of a magnet that are so similar that they repel each other. But at the same time, they get on like Nathan is kindling and Jacob is a lit match. Do you know what I mean?"

Rodney obediently nodded his head as if he did, but in reality, had _no fucking clue_ what Gus was saying. Was he high? As Rodney continued to try and figure out what the director wanted, Gus gestured to Sheppard, who double-timed it up the stairs and was at Rodney's side in an instant. 

Rodney's expression must have conveyed his confusion, because Gus added, "Think of your two characters this way. Jacob," he said as he put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder, "is a lighter that's out of butane. He's hollow inside and has no purpose anymore. But Nathan - he's a dried out forest that's ready to burn. So when you two get together, even though it's like there's nothing that can start, there's a sudden spark that can cause a great fire and destroy you both."

Rodney looked at Sheppard, whose expression said something to the effect of, 'Oh yeah. Tell me more.' But all the while, Rodney's insides were screaming, 'What the fuck does this idiot mean?' And why did Sheppard look so smug, while Rodney felt so insecure?

Before either could get anything further out of van Sant, he gestured them to take the stage. So Rodney followed Sheppard down the stairs, and each took a corner of the small stage. "Do you need your scripts?" Gus asked.

Rodney shook his head, proud that he'd memorized the entire script. But the fact that Sheppard had as well annoyed him to no end. "Yes," Gus said as he obviously picked up on Rodney's mood. "McKay, use that energy to fight back against Jacob. And Sheppard, use your obsession with Nathan. I want you to go through the scene toward the end, where Jacob blames Nathan for losing Thomas and Isabella, while Nathan is terrorized because Jacob is holding him at gunpoint. Got it?"

It took Rodney a second to process all the instructions, and it annoyed him that Sheppard threw out his "Ready to go," with the ease of a waiter reading back a table's order at some random chain restaurant in a strip mall. This was acting, dammit, and it took precise timing, emotions, and study. Rodney had to dig deep to find just the right pieces of himself, of everything he'd studied, to get the scene perfect. But Sheppard seemed to just be 'winging it.' That's what annoyed Rodney so damned much.

"Last thing," Gus said. "Remember, I need you to both act your truth. Got it?"

Rodney wondered if the entire film shoot was going to be in backward spoken riddles and puzzled idioms.

It was just a few moments later when Gus called, "Action!" that Rodney watched as Sheppard again transformed before his eyes. Gone was the lackadaisical surf boy with messy hair, and suddenly Rodney had a desperate man standing in front of him, the heaviness of loss weighing on his chest to the point of physical discomfort coming from expressive green eyes. Rodney played against John's character and was almost distracted when John, who had emotionally collapsed so realistically it caused Rodney to pause, leaned up to kiss him as Jacob did before his breakdown. But just as Sheppard's lips hovered an inch away from his own, Gus exclaimed, "Fucking _fantastic_!", and the moment was lost.

It had been a while since Rodney was so entranced at the characterization of a co-star that he managed to forget himself. But in the moment they'd just shared, that split second where John Sheppard completely embodied the part of Jacob, he'd fallen for it. And it pissed Rodney off to no end.

"You were amazing," Sheppard said as he stood back up, his posture back to being more surfer boy than professional. "Thank you." He again leaned close to Rodney, his mouth a hairs breath from Rodney's ear and said, "I sincerely hope we get to work together on this. It would mean a lot to me." He then pulled back, and, again, the moment was gone.

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney replied when he found his voice - not that he would admit that to Sheppard. "You were pretty good as well."

"Thanks, Rodney," Sheppard replied with a wink. And just like that, Rodney kind of figured that Gus might be onto something there. John was definitely more than the sum of his parts, as evidenced by his performance. It was an added bonus that they seemed to get on well enough.

After a few minutes of chaos, during which Gus spoke to the first AD, nodded to Rodney and John both, then left the room. The first AD took over, climbing onto a chair to tower over everyone. "Okay, everyone, for those that don't know me, my name is Laura Cadman, and I'm first AD on this picture. Gus has decided that this story takes place in the Pacific Northwest; Portland to be specific because it's his adopted hometown. But principal is going to be Vancouver, so everyone make sure you're up on your passports and dues. Gus is a strong union man, and this will be a union flick. John?" She gave Sheppard a quick wink - what was that all about? Then her friendly demeanor changed, and she continued, "McKay? Number eight, whatever your name is? We will be in touch with your agents, but we plan on starting to shoot up in Vancouver in the next couple of months. That gives you time to get through the holidays, so rest and relax while you can. Principal will start no later than mid-February. Because it's Gus' style, we will be shooting more sequential. That way it's more natural for our actors to get to know each other from start to end. Besides, the thought of a car accident is easier to produce in Vancouver when there's snow and ice on the ground." She looked around an almost unhappy look on her face. "Any questions?"

When there were none, she continued shouting, "Okay, thank you, everyone. See you in Vancouver. Happy holidays." 

And with that, they were dismissed.

Rodney looked around for Chuck and found him talking to Sheppard's PA. "Well," he said, and then suddenly Sheppard stepped in front of him. He focused on Sheppard's hazel eyes, trying to find _something_ unattractive about his co-star. "Umm, see you in Vancouver?" he finally said.

"Yeah," Sheppard said. "Maybe we could arrange for dinner beforehand?"

Rodney wanted to say no, but he also knew he wanted this picture to do well. So instead of flat-out denying Sheppard a dinner, he decided on a more nonchalant approach. "Yeah. Let me see what I can arrange. I'll be in touch."

"It's gonna be super working with you," Sheppard said as he took Rodney's hand into his own and shook it enthusiastically. It was like his hand was a rat and Sheppard was trying to kill it. "See you, Rodney."

Rodney just nodded his head, then gave a fake salute. He's not even sure _why_ he did it, other than it felt right in the moment. He watched as Sheppard walked up to where Chuck and Sheppard's PA were talking, then watched as the duo left the studio. Chuck reached him a few minutes later after making the rounds. It was strange on a set; everyone seemed to know each other except for the actors themselves. It made some sense in Rodney's head, but as Chuck greeted yet another person that Rodney had no clue who she was, it made Rodney just a wee bit jealous.

"Tell me something, McKay," Chuck said as he sidled up to Rodney and the duo began walking out of the room. "Have you ever had something like that before?"

"Like what?" Rodney asked innocently. But the thing is, he knew _exactly_ what Chuck meant. He was just not ready to respond yet because none of it made sense in his head.

"You and Sheppard," Chuck said as he looked out in the hall as if trying to find the other actor. "You two... I dunno. _Had_ something there." He stopped as he put a hand on Rodney's arm, having him stop as well. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Rodney didn't want to answer. Instead, he turned up his nose and said, "You think Flore still has pancakes on?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Chuck said with a laugh. "Come on. I'm sure there's some place in town that's got vegan, gluten-free pancakes ready for the griddle."

They walked silently to the parking lot as Rodney replayed John's conversation over in his head. "Oh," he said. "Once the schedule's set, you think you can set up a dinner for Sheppard and me in Vancouver? Someplace quiet."

Chuck looked at Rodney as if he'd grown a third head.

"No, no," Rodney replied. "Sheppard asked to have dinner before we started principal. I'm being nice and setting it up. But I don't know how nice I'm gonna be once we get there."

"Mmmhmm," Chuck said, giving him a look.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

~*~*~

After the screen test in Los Angeles, Rodney took care what little business he had in Los Angeles, and then had Chuck book his flights back to New York. As he gazed at the date on his boarding pass, November 12th, he sighed. Ever since leaving FOX Searchlight, he felt like something was missing. He'd ached like this once before, and that was after reading the first rough-draft script for ' _Dream Notes_.' He knew his original story had been great, yet it secretly irked at him that a brand new writer had captured so much more than what he'd had initially.

Rodney accepted a glass of red wine from the flight attendant and smiled as she silently gushed with a fellow cabin crew up in the galley. Surely the airline was used to flying VIPs between the coasts. But then again, he wasn't as recognized as someone like Sheppard was. Sure, it happened, just not as much lately, since his Oscar win was now a few years back.

After takeoff, Rodney dug through his bag to find his earphones, put on his favorite classical playlist, and settled in for the five-hour flight.


	5. John's POV

John Sheppard left Fox Searchlight studios with a spring in his step. He felt lighter, as if he just might have escaped the shackles of science fiction for good. Not that his movies didn't pay the bills; they had just started to become stale. ' _Ranger Murdoch_ ' had been not only a critical rout, but it had flopped as well; in the industry, if your movie just made budget back, it was considered a box office failure. His movies generally did pretty well, but when you considered the studio interference, compounded by a weak script, as well as the wannabe-Abrams director who turned the movie into nothing but 90 minutes of lens flares, all that added together pretty much guaranteed that it wouldn't turn a profit. And he was pretty sure the 27% Fresh score at RottenTomatoes was about twice what the movie deserved.

Evan showed up a few minutes later, after a quick confab with Laura Cadman. It was good to see Cadman again; they'd worked together on a movie in the past. She was one of the best AD's he'd ever worked with and didn't take any shit from anyone. Cadman's philosophy of actors was, "You make one shitty film, one bad interview, or just have one too many birthdays, and you're done in this town. Me? They don't care what I look like behind the camera, so I'll be making movies long after your sorry-ass career has dried up. Capisce?" It was people like Cadman who kept John grounded, and happy to do as much work as he could, all while keeping his head firmly on his shoulders.

"Keys," John said as he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

Evan looked at him, then shook his head as he handed them over. "Keep it under 70, boss," he said. "Either that or hope for a cop that's a fan."

"Yes, mom," John deadpanned, which earned him a dope slap from his assistant. It was good that they were so close. Otherwise, he might have to entertain the idea of replacing him. Besides, John almost _never_ got pulled over for speeding. And he'd only ever officially gotten one ticket, so it wasn't like his license was in jeopardy.

They made it back to Carter & Associates without so much as a blown-through red light. After walking through the double-doors, John waited a moment while Evan leaned over David's desk for a quick hello kiss and was absolutely _not_ envious at all, he lied to himself. He thought back to his last couple of dates, discreet, though of course, that didn't mean he didn't get papped. He was still a big enough star that whenever he went out on a date, there were headlines about what woman he was taking out. It was far too much of a hassle, and most of his partners didn't put up with it. He realized it was a necessary part of the business. But beyond that, he'd only really connected with one of the women - until the goodnight kiss. John knew the moment sparks flew when he and Nancy had kissed that first time that they'd had something. So whenever he went on a date, he searched for that same feeling. He had yet to find it.

Somehow his mind wandered back to the movies that he'd shot, specifically the kissing and sex scenes he'd shot in those movies. He had no idea why movie scene kissing crept to the forefront of his mind; kissing, much less simulated sexual experiences with two or three cameras rolling, two dozen people watching uninterestedly as they counted the minutes until lunch break, was the absolute worst. Sure, he'd had some interest in actresses he'd shot with before. But any possibility wilted after that kiss. At least he'd never gotten an erection during one of the shoots. How could he, with angry teamsters fuming every time the director had to call "Reset" after stopping the shoot.

With Evan back at his side, he heard David say, "She's expecting you," so he walked into her office. They took a seat while Sam finished up a phone call. John took a moment to go through the stack of mail Evan'd claimed for him, nodding yes to a couple fundraisers and to a local children's hospital that was holding an "Oncology Prom." He'd happily dance and mingle with young kids who were battling for their lives. Anything to make a kid's day brighter was worth a few hours, and an offering from his bank account.

"So, how did it go?" Sam asked as she hung up the phone. She leaned in, which made John appreciate her. She was genuinely intrigued, invested in John's career just as much as he was, and not just because of the money he brought in.

With a nod to the phone, John said, "Sounds like you may have already been talking to them?"

Sam couldn't hide her smile. It was another thing John liked about her. "They said your test went fantastically. Gus, himself, called." While that may be something that happened to people like Hanks or Streep, it wasn't something that happened to John all that often. That end of the business was usually handled through studio offices and Sam. "That was Greenfield. They're making you an offer. It's not as good as ' _Gateships_ ', or even ' _Moons of August_ '. But it's a good offer."

John leaned forward, "I don't care if I have to work for scale. Sam, I _need_ this." He looked at Evan, who caught his attention by sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "What did you think, Lorne?"

"He was amazing, Miss Carter. He's _got_ to do this movie." While normal PAs in Hollywood were supposed to be relegated to being quiet in a corner, John appreciated having Evan's opinion when it came to his projects. 

"Sam, if I were honest, I'd do this for whatever scraps I get to eat off the Craft Services tables." And though he was being facetious, the situation really wasn't that far off. "I really think this could redefine me as an actor. And maybe someone in this town - people like McKay, even - would take me a lot more serious."

While Sam nodded, Lorne cocked his head to the side. "I thought McKay treated you rather well," he said. "He had nice things to say about you, at least."

John couldn't hold back when he chuffed out a laugh and shook his head. "McKay said 'remarkable' - which isn't really bad, but then again it isn't really good, either." He sighed. "I get a lot of that type of shit whenever I meet guys like McKay. They're used to only hobnobbing with the likes of Hackman or Tracy, Newman or Brando. Well, I'm sorry, but most of those guys are dead. And I know I'm damned good at what I do if I finally just got the chance to prove it to them." He stood up, so Evan did as well. "Whatever the offer is, Sam, take it." And with that and a nod, he stood and turned to the door.

"I've already arranged to have the paperwork couriered to your house," Sam called after him. "Took a chance with that one."

John just nodded, then knocked twice on Sam's desk. Another reason he loved her. "Thanks for taking care of me, Sam." He walked around her desk and kissed her on the cheek. "You coming?" he asked Evan on his way out. 

Looking at his watch, Evan said, "I'm gonna wait until David's ready. Unless you need me, boss?"

John just shook his head. "Naah, that's fine. But I'm gonna stop by and pick up some ribs, steaks, and all the fixins for dinner. Ronon and Carson are in town, so I invited them over for some barbecue. You and David, too." He turned back, "Sam? You wanna come?"

"I'm meeting with Joseph tonight," he said. "He's entertaining new agents, so I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring."

Thinking back for a minute. Joseph Gordon Levitt was a free spirit, and someone John admired. "Take him to Petit Trois. Parlez-vous français?"

Sam smiled. "Oui," she said with a nod.

"We met up in London when he was shooting _'Dark Knight'_ and I was shooting ' _Slow Ascension_ '. One night at the hotel bar, he was complaining that he didn't get to practice his French enough. So I took him to a little French spot I'd found where the waitstaff only spoke French. You'd think he was in heaven." 

"Thanks, John," Sam replied. He hadn't even turned to the door before Sam reached over to her intercom. "David, could you get me a table for two at 'Petit Trois' tonight, please?

With a wink, John turned and left Sam's office and found his way back to his car. He pulled out of the parking lot and remembered he needed stuff for the barbecue. Only thing was, he was picky about his steaks. So even if he couldn't remember exactly where the nearest grocery was, he had plenty of time before his friends came over for dinner.

~*~*~

John moved the potatoes around the grill so that they'd finish cooking as he hummed a makeshift tune. His phone flashed, and John glanced at the remote gate app, though the deep-throated roar of the motorcycle told him of Ronon and Carson's arrival about thirty seconds beforehand. "Come on in, guys. I'm on the back deck," he said over the now-purring engine and hit the gate release button. He was sure David and Evan probably heard it as well, and they'd be over soon enough.

A few minutes passed after the engine was cut, and John tended to their meal. Ronon walked through first, the image of classic biker based on all the leather he sported, though for some reason he still wore the helmet that somehow fit over his long, dreadlocked hair. "Hey," he said as he clasped Ronon's meaty hand in his own and gave him a one-armed hug. "How's it going?"

Ronon took off his helmet, the charms in his hair making a jangling noise over the quiet jazz that played from the Bluetooth speakers scattered around the deck. John grinned until Ronon flashed him the weirdest colored eyes that John'd ever seen. "What the fuck, dude?"

With a barrel-chested laugh, Ronon pointed to his eyes and said, "Contacts."

"Yeah," Carson said as he came up behind Ronon. He, too, was wearing leather, but jacket only. He took it off and tossed it onto the back of a chair, revealing the dad-like wardrobe John was used to seeing him in. "He freaked me the hell out, too," he said, his Scottish accent somehow even thicker than usual.

John studied Ronon's eyes for a minute. "Nobody's gonna think those are real, buddy. Sorry," he said. 

"Don't need them to," Ronon replied as he tried to pry the steak tongs out of John's hands. Thing was, John anticipated the move and was quicker. "You said I could cook this time," Ronon grumbled.

As John shook his head, he said, "These are Stemple Creek, buddy. Salt, pepper, no more than five minutes on the grill, then down the hatch." He smiled as a devious thought came to mind. "You wanna scare up the boys?" He looked over at Carson, then pointed with the tongs. "And you. Go pick a couple bottles out of the kitchen and open 'em up," he said. He should have opened the reds and let them breathe but ran out of time.

Ronon went to the stairs. "I'll go get 'em. But if I interrupt them having sex again, I'm gonna at least sit-down and watch." He tossed John and Carson a wink. "Somebody's gotta get laid around here." 

John shook his head as Carson chuckled. "That lad," Carson said as heavy footfalls crunched over fallen leaves. "Does what he wants, and fuck all if anyone even so much as looks at him crosseyed."

John nodded. Ronon certainly had his own way around Hollywood. Did what he wanted, _who_ he wanted, and still came out on top. His star had shone the brightest in all Hollywood, and there seemed to be no way to dull it in the least - not that John ever wanted that for his friend. He remembered on more than one occasion when Ronon showed up on a red carpet with someone under his arm. His standard answers to the stupidity of usual questions from whatever blond reporter they'd fished up that week went something like:

Reporter: "Who are you wearing?"

Ronon: "Dunno. This was hanging up in my closet when I woke up."

But Ronon's discussion of is dates was probably John's favorite of all time.

Reporter: "So who are you attending with?"

Ronon: (Turning to the man or woman that he was draped across) "Hey, beautiful, what's your name? Brandon? (Turning back to the reporter) "This here's Brandon. He was in my bed when I woke up this afternoon, and I asked if he wanted to come to this shindig with me."

Ronon had done the "Hey, beautiful" on more than one occasion, with men, women, and sometimes couples. The man could charm the fish from the sea.

A distinctive, quite unmanly scream came from across the yard, and John figured that Ronon had caught Evan and David unaware. He just hoped to god that this time they were dressed.

"Hey, Sheppard!"

"Yeah, big guy?" John screamed back.

"We're gonna need about twenty minutes!" Just the leer in Ronon's voice was enough to paint the scene of whatever Evan and David were getting up to.

"No, we're not!" David called back. "Be there in five!"

There was an "Awww," that sounded over the music. And for the life of him, John couldn't tell if it was Ronon or Evan's voice. Though it _could_ have been both.

"You gotta love Ronon," Carson said as he came up and gave John a glass of red. They clinked glasses, and each took a sip. While John wasn't as big a wine drinker as some, he did appreciate from time to time. But it was the warmth that painted a path down the back of his throat that reminded him of a good Scotch. These expensive bottles of red were worth it. "Those boys are in for it," Carson added.

"I dunno," John replied. "David can be pretty headstrong. And even with as handsome as they both are, and with as many beautiful people in all of our lives, I've never seen anyone with as much love and devotion as Evan has for David. It's sweet, really."

"What about you?" Carson asked as he took a seat. "How're things since..." 

John waved him off. Carson was one of the most genuine men that John knew, in the business longer than John had been, and yet was still the farthest thing from jaded as possible. He'd been there when Nancy had moved out, keeping John busy with everything from surprise weekend fly-fishing trips to a yet-to-be-discovered Wyoming ranch, to just sharing a bottle of Scotch quietly in front of a fire, ready for when John needed to talk. He was a rare friend that John had made when shooting a picture years before. He introduced Carson to Ronon half a dozen years back, and the two acted like the most unlikely bonded pair of friend John had ever seen. It was actually encouraging.

"Hey, let's not talk about that," John said as he diverted his attention back. "Ours is not to dwell on the past, but to build a future." He clinked his glass with Carson again.

" _That_ bloody line," Carson said. It was a line of closing dialogue that Carson's character had spoken on the trio's first movie - a line that Carson had cursed and made John and Ronon promise would _not_ end up on his tombstone one day. "Why is it always that fecking line?"

"Hey. it's a good line," John replied. "Props to good dialogue," he said and clinked Carson's glass. "Besides, it was appropriate to the situation."

"Aye," Carson said, and again clinked his glass. "So when's promotion over for ' _Gateships_ '?

John took another sip of the rich burgundy liquid. "Not soon enough," he said. "And then I've got the premier to go to. After that, got a couple months off." He took another sip. "What about you? What're you working on?"

Carson shook his head. "Nothing at the moment, but you know this town. I could wake up with six offers tomorrow." And even though Carson's tone was light, there was a hint of something in his voice. Carson was a few years older than John. And John was no stranger to aging out of Hollywood's ideal. But Carson was like Rodney; he had a life on the stage before Hollywood claimed him. And worse came to worse, he always had the stage to fall back on. "What about you, lad?"

"Funny you should ask," John replied. "Signed on to a picture this morning. Or, well, got an offer to do it. Sam said she was having the paperwork couriered."

"Whose it with?" Ronon said as he trudged back up the stairs. John glanced his way and saw David and Evan hot on his heels. Evan was talking to David, but based on what David's eyes were staring at - Ronon's leather-clad ass ascending the stairs in front of him - he could tell David was distracted. So maybe Ronon _did_ have some sort of magic power, anyway. 

"Van Sant," John replied.

"Van Sant's making a space movie, son?" Carson asked.

John scratched at the back of his neck. It was a habit he picked up somewhere when he wasn't entirely comfortable. But these were his friends; he could tell them. "Farthest thing from a space movie," John said. He gave a quick rundown of the plot, a little anxious at the four sets of eyes that bore down on him. 

"He was fucking amazing," Evan offered in the silence once John was finished. He winked at his boss. "Knew you could do it, boss."

"Who is your costar?" Ronon asked around a mouthful of chips. He happily accepted a glass of wine from David, who had somehow taken on the role of host. 

Of all the bits of the project, _McKay_ was the most concerning, only because of the vibe Rodney'd given him during the screen test. "Rodney McKay," he said. He paused as he studied Carson and Ronon, searching their reaction for anything they might know. "Either of you guys worked with him?"

"McKay?" Ronon said. "Nice eyeass," he said, mushing the two words together as he sipped at his wine glass.

"Was that nice eyes or nice ass, lad?" Carson asked.

Ronon took another big swallow of wine as he sat down on the table. He dangled his long legs off the side and let them glide forward and back. "Both," he said, then tossed some chips in his mouth.

If Ronon weren't so menacing, he'd look like a five-year-old based on his body language. 

"Met him backstage after one of his performances once," Ronon continued. "Kind of a jerk, but he's method. Nice enough guy."

John just nodded his head. "What about you, Carson?"

"Aye. I worked with him once - the film before he did ' _Dream Notes_ '. It was mostly forgettable, and before anybody really knew who he was. He was a bit of a handful on the set, but nothing I couldn't manage."

"They had terrific chemistry," Evan offered. He pulled a chair out and let David sit, then took another one and set it between David and Carson. They'd all hung out many times before, and known each other for years. Tonight was meant to be just a nice, quiet dinner between friends. "You'd think they'd known each other for a while."

Silence overtook them for a beat, then three. "Well, who wants steak?" John asked.

There was a rounding chorus of "Me!" that filled the silence, quickly replaced by the sounds of meat sizzling on the grill.

~*~*~

The holidays came and went. John tried to keep busy as much as possible, though during the two weeks at Christmas that Evan and David ventured to San Francisco to stay with Evan's mother, the big, empty house was even quieter than usual. He went to the children's hospital more than a couple of times and kept up appearances as Sam suggested. Still, most of his time was spent out on the water, a surfboard between his neoprene covered thighs.

Before long, the holidays limped away, giving way to January. It was a few days into the new year when Evan, and David came back. It took John and Evan all of thirty seconds to sync up once again, and John was able to let go and _just be_ while Evan saw to everything else. John was once again comfortable talking and drinking wine or scotch on the deck, even when a cold spell, at least by California standards, dominated the weather for a week. And because John and Evan were destined to spend the next couple months in Vancouver, the cooler weather inspired him to take them all out shopping a couple times to get weather-appropriate wear. And when the filming schedule was finalized, he surprised David with a couple round trip tickets to come to spend the weekend up in Vancouver. After all, Evan was going to be either on set with John, or cooped up in a hotel room; didn't seem right to keep the two apart. Especially with their anniversary coming up.

~*~*~

When John and Evan stepped off the Air Canada flight to Vancouver, the cold seeped in through the air bridge and tugged at their LA-based clothing. John was glad that Evan had packed their jackets in a carryon, so when they stepped out onto the curb to find their waiting driver, he only shivered a little bit as frigid air crept under the black t-shirt he wore. He just wished he'd had the sense to wear a long-sleeved shirt like Evan. Evan'd told him to, but the look on Evan's face as he rolled his eyes at John digging through the bag until he pulled out a light coat was enough to make him smile.

Evan got them checked into their suites, the production having put them both up into rooms that were bigger than John's first three apartments combined. He assumed Evan's was as palatial but wasn't going to disturb him to ask; once that door shut, John was happy to give Evan some time alone. John, who hadn't slept all that well the night before, stripped out of his coat and shirt and fell barechested onto what had to have easily been 2,000 count sheets. With the roaring fire nearby, the heat from the flames licking at his bare skin, he was so comfortable that he didn't want to move.

"Shep?" Evan's voice drifted in sometime later. "Hey, wake up," he heard, then felt Evan's hand on his shoulder. "You've got dinner with McKay in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" Sheppard asked. He looked around frantically for his shirt, then turned and grabbed it from Evan's outstretched hand. "How's my hair? Fuck it. I'll have to fix it in the car. Where's my phone?"

"Relax, relax," Evan said as he grounded John with a hand on his shoulder. "Dinner's here in the hotel. Second floor."

"Oh thank god," John said. He took the time to yawn, then scrubbed his face with his hands. "This place is fancy, though. They gonna have a conniption if I ask for a cheeseburger?"

Evan laughed. "Oh, please. Do they know who you are?"

John had to laugh with his PA. The celebrity card wasn't one that John ever played - far from it. He hated it when actors pulled that shit. But hey, if it helped him get a burger, he might have to make an exception. At least that's what he was craving. The hotel they'd put him up in seemed to have a French flair to it, so maybe there was something more interesting on the menu. He accepted a jacket from Evan and put it on over his black t-shirt, and bid Evan goodnight.

Minutes later John showed up at the restaurant, where the maître d' must have recognized him. He led John past a few diners, most of which stopped when they realized who John was - at least that's the story that the gawps told - and walked them toward an area in the back, separated by the thinnest of portable screens. Tucked behind, in the tastefully decorated pocket of the restaurant was just a table set for two, surrounded by flower-covered sideboards and paintings on the walls that made it feel miles away from the dining room. And yet if he concentrated, John could hear the gentle murmur of diners just a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," the maître d' said, "but your dinner companion is not here as of yet." He put John's napkin in his lap, handed him a menu, and then turned and walked out of the room, a muted "Bon appétit" left in his wake.

John sat, feeling just a bit out of place. He wasn't fancy enough for this hotel, but fuck it. This was going to be his home for the next couple of months of his life. So he pulled out his menu and started to read it over, as he began to hum a familiar tune.


	6. Rodney and John's POV

Rodney appreciated New York during the holidays, what with the crisper air, the sense of something just around the corner, and the smell of pine and cinnamon that seemed to waft from every storefront. Even if it sometimes wreaked havoc with his sinuses, he still appreciated the scent, because he knew good things were coming. But mostly he just enjoyed the fact that, except for New Year's Eve, New York City proper tended to thin out over the holidays, with the people that he would inevitably run into being just regular New Yorkers. There were no gawpers to sidestep around whenever he walked near the Chrysler building, or somber moments in front of the new World Trade Center building, or even the foolishness of the "Must have!" selfie taken at the drop of a hat from any street corner with even the sliver of a view. Usually, when he bumped into someone during tourist season, he had a good chance of being spotted. But at the end of the year? More likely than not it was just another New Yorker going about their day.

Because he was between projects, Rodney decided to work on a bit of music. He tried to write a few short stories, but every time he did, his mind came back to his upcoming project. Now everything that crossed into the left part of his brain either had to do with a gay couple, losing a child, or anything else that he associated with his original work. It wasn't something he wanted to do, so since he was in a rut, he put down the notebook and picked up composing-noted paper. He ended his time in New York with three new compositions, two for piano, and one piece, his favorite, that would combine oboe and cello. Rodney could play neither, so he sent a note off to an acquaintance that ran the Philharmonic to see about working with some of his musicians. Sure, he could hire students, but his blood pressure was high enough without the added stress of having to teach someone musical theory when that was supposed to be their job. Why not work with professionals, given half a chance. 

A few days before Christmas, when New York seemed at it's most calm, most serene, Rodney contacted Chuck to get his travel itinerary. He always spent Christmas with his sister and her family, even if it meant leaving New York when it was at its most tolerable. Chuck emailed Rodney his ticket information, so Rodney made the trek out to La Guardia that evening and settled in for the long flight to Vancouver.

His visit was great, especially for his blood pressure, even if the English teacher tried to raise it now and again by telling his daughter something inane like that she could be a scientist (as Rodney wanted) _and_ a ballerina if she wanted to. And even though it was so close to Christmas that most of the shops would be bursting past capacity, Rodney made another final trek out to his favorite, "Little Genius" store in town and picked up a few more scientific based gifts to put under the tree. 

Because the film shoot was less than a month away, Rodney had Chuck ship up some more of his clothes and rented a fully furnished studio in the best part of the Yaletown neighborhood. He'd appreciated the location to nearby shops, restaurants, and didn't really mind the beautiful people that populated the area wearing entirely too many clothes for Winter, even if it was British Columbia. But his favorite thing about his studio was the well maintained Steinway that made up one-quarter of the small living room. So more often than not, Rodney spent the night in, composing or just playing piano instead of heading over to his sister's house. 

A few days later, Rodney rented a car and drove out to Vancouver International and waited for Chuck's flight. Once Chuck walked through Customs and spotted Rodney, he gave him the oddest look. "What?" Rodney asked. "I'm always nicer around the holidays."

"No you're not," Chuck said with a grin.

Rodney just shrugged. "Maybe I've turned over a new leaf, then."

Chuck laughed. "One can only hope."

Rodney made Chuck navigate to the hotel where they would be spending the next two months of their lives. Well, Chuck would, as Rodney decided to stay one more week at his rented apartment to focus on the music. The first few days of the movie would mostly be set up and background stuff; movie shoots had two start dates - the official one, and the one where first images were _really_ filmed. He knew he had the time. When they reached the hotel, Rodney parked the car and handed the keys over to Chuck; his PA would have it for the duration. He'd find his way to the hotel restaurant where Chuck had made reservations for him and Sheppard, and then get a lift back to his studio.

After dropping his jacket in Chuck's room, Rodney made his way to the second floor. The maître d' greeted him with a snooty smile that was so jaded, Rodney wanted to remind him that this was Vancouver, _not_ some upscale, exclusive place in New York. So when Sir Snooty gestured to a curtained off area at the back, Rodney dismissed him with a nod and said, "Don't bother. I won't be staying," and then walked to the cordoned off area by himself, leaving Sir Snooty in his wake.

The closer that Rodney got to the screened area, he noticed the subtle ache in his chest. Not something that felt discomforting enough to report to his cardiologist, but almost familiar in where it landed. It was then that he rounded the corner and realized that the familiarity had to do with the company; he looked up and saw John Sheppard, hair askew like he'd woken up and just gone with whatever his hair had decided to do that day, as Sheppard's pursed, chapped lips clenched together and he hummed the same disconcerting tune Rodney had heard back down at the studio. It almost made him _not_ want to sit down, against his better judgment. "Sheppard," he said as he took a chair.

John Sheppard stood up and extended a hand. "Hey, Rodney," John replied. He let loose a low chuckle, then shook his head. "Sorry, _McKay_ ," he said as Rodney shook his hand.

"Either's fine," Rodney said through pursed lips of his own.

"Didn't want to be _too_ familiar," Sheppard replied. "I mean, I know we'll get to know each other over the next couple of months and all." 

A silence sprung up between them, and quickly grew much longer than John expected, at least based on his expression. "Menu looks pretty good," he said.

When the lasers that he so desperately wanted to shoot from his eyes failed to do their job, Rodney sighed. "Listen. Let's just quit the small talk, okay? I don't think this is such a good idea." He gestured to the minuscule table and the small pocket of a room that they were safely ensconced in, hiding from the rest of the restaurant patrons. "Gus wants us to get to know each other through the film."

Sheppard's expression turned curious, but there was enough heat of anger hiding behind his eyes that Rodney knew he was taking this personally. And he didn't have time for people like that. 

"It's just sharing a fucking meal, McKay." _There_ was the heat; what until that moment remained safely hidden beneath the surface seemed to bubble forth and take over Sheppard's entire demeanor. "I'd heard you could be an asshole on set. But this?" He let out an easy, disappointed sounding laugh. "This must be some new land speed record for you or something."

It was easy enough to feed off of the anger of another person, and even use it against them. It was a tactic that Rodney'd used over the years, though the only time it really backfired was with Villeneuve. Damn Québécois. "I just think that we shouldn't-"

"Spend too much time together?" Sheppard spit. He leveled a look at Rodney which probably had rivaled Rodney's own upon sitting down.

"I was going to say get too familiar," Rodney finished. "Gus is shooting in sequence for a reason. Maybe we should try and respect his wishes."

Another huff escaped John's chest. "Are you so damned robotic that you can't separate your personal life from your work?"

"It's called a method. A method that, might I remind you, has won _one_ of the people at this table an Oscar. And that's just for acting. I'll have you know that I have Oscars for my musical scores, Tonys, and have been nominated for _two_ -"

"You don't think I'm worthy of this, do you?" John asked. His voice, barely above a whisper, seethed. "You don't think that some 'science fiction action hero' has the fucking range to do a movie like this." 

Silence again. This time it stretched on so long, it felt like a real punch when John snapped, "You could at least respect me enough to give me an answer."

After a beat, Rodney opened his mouth to answer. But again, John cut him off. "Have you tried to replace me yet?" he asked, voice as cold as Vancouver nightfall in Winter. "Who?"

Rodney sat up a little straighter. "I hadn't considered-"

"Bullshit, McKay." 

They sat opposite each other for a moment until John moved to grab his menu. But before he opened it, he slammed it down, his half-empty water glass toppling over and quickly spreading across the linen tablecloth. He stood, the echo of his chair tipping back and landing on its back sounding throughout their little area and off into the central part of the restaurant. Rodney stayed stitched to his seat and looked up into John's eyes, ordinarily green with golden flecks, but now dark as night. "I don't care what casting says. I don't care what Gus says. And I sure as fuck don't care what _you_ have to say, McKay. If I didn't think I had it in me to do this job, I wouldn't have taken it."

John tossed his napkin to the tabletop, and then stormed off through the restaurant and out into the hotel.

Rodney sat there, dumbfounded, for far too long, even as waitstaff descended upon the scene and changed out the table linens and ruined menus. When he finally came back to his senses, Rodney stood. "You know what? I'm not that hungry," he said to nobody in particular, then put his menu down, and walked out of the restaurant.

~*~*~

John hadn't been quite this angry in his whole career. Maybe with his father, once or twice when they would get into it nearly every day, John aching to get out of the house and John's father aching for a woman buried far too early. He’d never been this furious in a professional setting. But Rodney McKay set his teeth on edge by insulting his craft. It wasn't John's fault that he'd gotten pigeonholed over the years. And he knew that he could do this job. The role was _made_ for him, and he was damned if he was going to let go of it. Not just because some awkward guy with a few awards to his name didn't think he could do it. 

His first instinct had been to storm out of not just the restaurant, but the hotel, too. But instead of that, he strode quickly to the elevator, flicked his card at the card reader, and punched in his floor. He reached the suite next to his and banged on the door loud enough that the guy in the next suite, a gangly looking fellow with brown hair wearing an "I ♥ Vancouver" t-shirt walked out, looked around, and then went back into his suite. He looked about as well rested as Lorne usually looked when John had been on set somewhere for three months without a break. John nodded, then knocked again and added a, "Lorne?" 

A second later, Lorne opened the door, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. "Boss?"

"Shit," John said when reality crashed around him. He hadn't considered his PA being indisposed. But at least it was just him. John made a mental note to leave him alone when David came up for their shared weekends. "Sorry, dude," he said and absolutely did _not_ allow himself to look anywhere near his PA's sculpted chest. He closed his eyes and mentally reminded himself that he dearly needed to get laid. Man, woman, goat - hell, at this point he'd take his chances with a hollowed out knot in the nearest tree stump. 

Lorne shook his head as he guided John into his room. "No, boss. This is why I always put one of my keys in your wallet - you need me, that's that. Doesn't matter if I'm showering or sleeping, you get my full attention." Lorne grabbed some clothes from the dresser, and John bet that were he to go into his room right now, he'd not only find all of his clothes and toiletries unpacked in the room, but his wardrobe set for the next two weeks as well. He slipped on a pair of boxers under his towel, then tossed it to the second bed. "Where're we going?" he asked as he slipped into a t-shirt, then pulled on a pair of jeans and finally went in search of a sweater.

That's what John not only liked about Lorne but what made him a perfect PA. He could anticipate John's needs before John even could. "Beer? Recreational libation?" He bobbed his eyebrows up and down, then said, "Strippers?"

"Oh please. Like I could go to a place up here with strippers."

Lorne looked far too casual, with a hint of mischievousness, as he shrugged his shoulders. "It could happen. We can make certain arrangements. if the need arises."

"Just a beer. Maybe someplace with wings or something."

Lorne tugged on a sweater that looked warm. John eyed it, thinking that it might be something he'd like to steal. Maybe he could talk David into a trade after they were back in LA. He'd done it before; it was the only way he could get his hands on some of the really cool things Lorne found on their travels. And because David was always involved, Lorne couldn't get mad. 

"Best place for wings around here is actually a couple blocks down. But I gotta warn ya, boss," he said. "Buncha _my_ people."

John waved the warning off. "Everybody's a little bit gay in Canada," John said, and then deadpanned, "Even me, I guess," which made Evan almost lose his balance. "C'mon," he said, so he and Evan grabbed their jackets and walked to the door, where John opened it and said, "Lead on, McDuff."

The bar _did_ have the best chicken wings this side of Albany, and just about every Canadian beer ever brewed on tap. And the staff was so protective that they didn’t even have to make patrons promise to give John his privacy; it was just something understood between twenty-some-odd strangers. So John was allowed to cut loose a little bit, enjoyed his beer and wings, and even winked at the guy who had tried to be subtle as he cruised John in the bathroom. The night out was exactly what John needed to turn the sour taste of his interaction with McKay into a distant memory.

There was, of course, a delay in the start of filming because of a missing permit and an impromptu snowstorm that lasted two days. It may be beautiful once it had fallen, and made everything white and magical. But actual filming in the snow posed an extra challenge, from problems with the equipment to additional liabilities due to 'more dangerous conditions.' Once they were ready to film, it was just scenes with John and his costars, Daniel - aka his 'Thomas,' and the little one who would play their daughter, Isabella. Isabella actually turned out to be twins, barely three months old. But they were as adorable as they were a treasure to film with. They rarely cried, though Bettina, the older of the two twins, would cry whenever John held him. It was something Gus decided to capitalize on, integrating it into a fight between Jacob and Thomas, where Jacob would pick up his sleeping daughter, who would start crying on demand, and Thomas would come in and soothe her.

Once they'd gotten principal photography for Jacob and his little family's background, they went to shoot the big accident scene. It would be filmed multiple times, each from a distinct angle, including from the witnesses. That morning, as John arrived on set, he saw that Rodney McKay, too, was on set for the very first time. He stayed to himself, with only the gangly looking man from their floor by his side, and John realized that he must be Rodney's PA. He nodded to Cadman as she arrived for the morning, and then turned to Lorne.

"See the guy standing next to McKay?"

"Oh yeah," Evan said. "That's Chuck. He's McKay's PA. Been with him almost as long as I've been with you, Shep."

Of _course_ Lorne knew who it was. He knew _everything_. "Anyway," John drawled, "so you already know." He bobbed his head towards McKay, so he and Lorne started to cross the street, free of traffic since it'd been blocked off starting sometime late the night before. As he approached, John leaned in close. "You want to see acting?" he whispered inches from Lorne's ear.

"Boss?" 

John just smiled. He then took off his gloves and walked up to Rodney McKay. And even though he wanted to scream, John held out his hand. "Rodney McKay," he said as he approached and took Rodney's hand in his own. "Really good to see you again."


	7. Rodney's POV

Rodney showed up on the set with just barely the hint of hesitance in his step. He'd not had the best experience with John Sheppard, and today would be their first real interaction. Even though the script had not called for them to interact at all, because this was the big, pivotal moment that began Jacob's descent into madness, and Rodney's character Nathan had to be there as a witness. But he'd seen Sheppard's 'down home' fake wholesomeness in interviews before; he'd spent far too much time reading up on his costar the last few days since he wasn't needed on set. And yes, John had been angry at the hotel, but Rodney could see through that, with all the authenticity of an Irishman trying to fake a South African accent.

Thankfully today's shots called for no actual scenes with Sheppard, and Rodney was grateful for Chuck's warning that Sheppard was rapidly approaching from behind him. He turned just as he heard Sheppard declare that it was "really good to see you again." 

Rodney didn't buy it for a minute. But the man had put up a good act, so maybe there was something of a hidden talent in him after all.

"Sheppard," Rodney said as he shook John's hand. "Pivotal scene. Ready to react for the camera when your family's run over from seventeen different angles?" Rodney meant it to come out lighter than it was, but the subject matter didn't help any.

"You bet," Sheppard replied. He then bobbed his head toward the sideline and gestured to a handsome looking blond fellow that stood stock still in the middle of everything. Rodney could tell that this was "Thomas's" first big role, even if it was for all of probably ten minutes of screen time. Then again, every moment spent before either camera or audience meant you were practicing your craft. Or in the case of Sheppard and the action stars of his ilk, murdering it slowly by a thousand cuts. "I want you to meet Daniel. He's playing my partner, Thomas."

Daniel looked horrified for a minute, then gestured to himself at Sheppard's urging, as if to indicate, "Me?" He quickly made his way across, then stood rigidly next to John. Rodney watched as John's demeanor changed gently as he literally took Daniel under his arm. "Danny, I'd like you to meet Oscar-winning actor Rodney McKay." 

Rodney had _no_ idea why John included the 'Oscar winner' title, though it was probably a dig back at their aborted dinner from a few days before. Still, it was always something nice to hear, so he grinned greedily at the title and held out his hand. 

He sincerely hoped Chuck still had his hand sanitizer. Because this forced habit of meeting people was far too intimate for his tastes and included far too many chances at sharing germs. And besides, didn't people know it was the middle of cold and flu season?

There were niceties shared between mostly Sheppard and Daniel, though Sheppard's PA and Chuck threw in from time to time as well. Rodney mostly blended into the background. It was mostly what he did, anyway, observing. Observation was the key to not just acting craft, but human interaction. Anything you needed to know, you could learn by watching two or more people interact when they were face to face. And at that moment, his perch was somewhat perfect. He got to observe multiple personalities, from various people that stood in the different strata of the business. As someone who studied people in his spare time, Rodney found the current moment fascinating.

Before long Gus showed up on the set, driving a beat-up Toyota. He parked it along the side of the street, where it looked like any other car in this working-class neighborhood. After a few minutes, he got out and crossed to Laura Cadman, where the two had a quiet confab. When Gus walked away, Laura just nodded, then called the entire cast and crew together. She gave the basic rundown of how the scene was going to play out, what sequence would be filmed first, second, and stressed that they would need everyone to be on their mark and reacting, no matter if the camera was on them or not.

There was one certainty about film acting, and that was that it was mostly repetition and waiting. Not always in that order.

The first scenes shot would, of course, be closeups of Sheppard's character Jacob as he watched his family become decimated. Even though Rodney was in the moment, he still let himself take the time to watch over Sheppard if only to see how much of a ham his costar was. Most actors, when it came to repeating scenes, were geniuses when it came to shots like this because they used what many in the industry called "cut and paste face," meaning that they used the same expression over and over again. That way the audience couldn't tell the first take from the twentieth. But the thing with Sheppard was, Rodney watched as he offered just the most subtle change. From shock to instant grief, to unintelligible, horrific sorrow. Rodney wanted to march up to him and explain how he should be reacting to the camera, but for some reason, Cadman was eating it all up. 

He made a mental note to never work with Laura Cadman again.

When it came to the focus being on Rodney for the accident, and his immediate followup where he abandoned Thomas's character and went directly to the stroller, Rodney went full in. He was submerged in his character and knew that it was precisely what Jacob would do, given the situation. After he heard, "Cut. Reset!" called, he went back to his mark to get it all over again. And when Gus called "Cut! Print! Next shot, please!" and they re-set for a whole new angle, Rodney was pleased that while Sheppard had gone through eight takes, Rodney had managed to do it in three.

Once the accident scene was 'in the can,' Rodney had a couple of days off. His next shot would be when Sheppard's character finally lost himself in grief and took Rodney's character hostage. But before then, there would be shots of Sheppard and his battle with sanity, culminating with the pivotal scene where Sheppard's character Jacob was on the phone with Rodney's character Nathan, having collapsed after finding a toy that belonged to Isabella. Of course, Rodney's part would be done later by ADR so they wouldn't need him. He had three days off, at least according to the call sheet. A conversation the night before his three-day reprieve, however, had stuck in his craw so bad, that he decided to give in to whatever Chuck was smoking and visit the set before he went to Jeannie's for a short visit. So while Rodney made it to the set the morning of his first day off in two weeks, he wasn't staying. He explained to Chuck, who was to be on set just in case something came up for Rodney to deal with, that him coming was just to prove how one-dimensional Sheppard truly was.

"I'm telling you, Rodney," Chuck had said on the way to the set, "I think you're really underestimating him. You really need to watch his scenes. The subtleness that he picks up is... Well, it's just astonishing."

Rodney made a 'PFFT' sound and rolled his eyes. "That man couldn't convince me that the Pope was Catholic."

It was Chuck's turn to roll his eyes. 

"I think you're overreaching here, Chuck," Rodney said. "But I'll give it a watch after I drop you off this morning if it makes you happy."

The scenes shot in Jacob and Thomas's home were, in reality, shot in a full mock-up of a home, lavishly detailed on a North Vancouver soundstage. Rodney walked in, much to the confusion of people on set, and just dismissed them with a shake of the head. "The hell are you doing here, McKay?" Laura Cadman had asked as Rodney strolled through and found his chair, Chuck at his side.

"Just here to prove a point," Rodney replied.

Laura cut her eyes at him for a second, then went back to setting up the shot.

He tried to stay out of the way of Gus and John, who were conferring on the soundstage. John was standing in what looked like a hallway in any regular house. Only this hallway was entirely open on one side, and there was a ton of camera equipment where the second wall should be. It took a few minutes for the shot to be set, with Gus conferring with the director of photography about how the shot should be 'unbalanced,' to give the viewer an indication as to Jacob's state of mind in that exact moment. Rodney had to admit that it was a stroke of genius; even the slightest tilt of the camera would induce an uneasy feeling within the audience, and take them along for the ride. 

One of the AD's called for "Quiet on the set," and before long, Gus called "Action!"

And Rodney watched as John Sheppard physically transformed with an understated, muted effort and completely became Jacob. His easy-going, devil may care attitude fell away like a broken façade, and what remained was the remnants of a man fragmented by loss. Rodney couldn't explain it - didn't want to. But as he watched John Sheppard in the role of Jacob step to the closet door, a stuffed animal from somewhere above fall out and hit him on the shoulder; he watched as Sheppard methodically came apart piece by piece until he collapsed against the doorjamb. The whole shot didn't take more than ninety seconds, and would probably be reduced on film to closer to forty-five, but it was riveting. Even without dialogue, Sheppard's performance spoke volumes about his character's loss, what he was going through, and what his, unfortunately, lonely future held.

When Gus didn't call cut, Sheppard continued. As Rodney read the original scene, there were to be multiple shots of Jacob collapsing, followed by the scene with the call. But Gus was right not to break the magic. So Sheppard moved on with the scene where he pulled out his cell phone and called Rodney's character Nathan. Rodney watched, transfixed, as Jacob dialed the phone with trembling fingers, each touch of the phone as painful as a burn. And the set, already quiet like any film set during a shoot, was even quieter as Sheppard said what few words the scene had. "Nathan? Tell me again about that day..."

The spell continued moment after moment until Gus called, "Cut!" And Rodney watched, through eyes hot with rage, as Sheppard slowly stood up and became himself again with the ease of someone walking through a doorway.

Rodney grabbed Chuck's collar and pulled him desperately close. Through his clenched jaw, he demanded, "I want dailies. Send them to Jeannie's house. _Tonight_!" And with that, Rodney stormed out, found the rental car, and sat behind the wheel, taking deep breaths until he calmed down enough to drive halfway across Vancouver to Jeannie's house.

~*~*~

As promised, Chuck managed to wrangle Sheppard's dailies out of Cadman, who said she was going to hold it over McKay's head. Dailies were something that the studio might ask for, or maybe the director if they were off-site and the First AD was overlooking the movie. But it was pretty rare to have a star ask for dailies, especially that of scenes that he wasn't part of. He didn't care what Chuck had had to promise. He was just glad to have them.

Rodney felt like he couldn't be more pissed off than when he left the set. But as he watched the first set of dailies, which were scenes of a happy family mostly shot as background where Jacob and Thomas were suffering from lack of sleep and an ever-crying newborn, he seethed. He barely got up from where he hid, in the basement of his sister's house, except to pace from time to time, or to change the tape. Or when Jeannie came downstairs and literally pulled him by the ear to join them upstairs for dinner.

As he did the last two nights, Rodney tossed and turned so much that he wouldn't be surprised if he came back to the set with bruises. As it was, the makeup department was going to have a field day with trying to deal with the epically sized bags under Rodney's eyes. He watched the clock next to the bed click over to 2:20 am, and decided to get up and just go ahead and start his day; maybe he could get a little sleep once he was settled back in at the hotel. He opened up a mobile app to get a car, and then packed his meager belongings, leaving a note for Jeannie that he'd see them soon.

But being back at the hotel wasn't much better for Rodney. If anything, it might have been a little worse. When he stepped off the elevator, he slowed outside the two suites on the floor that he knew were occupied, but not by him or Chuck. He knew one of them was John Sheppard and had to fight the urge to bang on each one until he had Sheppard at arm's length so that he could yell at him a little.

Instead, he took a few deep breaths, making the only sound in the deserted hallway, and resisted the urge to wake up Sheppard. Instead, he keyed open his door, walked in, and faceplanted into his bed. He didn't even stay awake long enough to see the clock cut over to 3 am.

A knock at the door interrupted the most pleasant dream of him winning multiple Oscars in a night, one for best original screenplay, beating out Kavanagh in the acting category and beating out Williams, Burwell, and Newman for best movie score. "Hunh?" he called, then tried to sit up. Only he realized that he'd fallen asleep on his right arm, and sat there transfixed as his arm began to tingle. He could command absolutely _no_ movement. He picked it up, then tried to hold it in place. But instead, it fell lifelessly at his side. Meanwhile, a loud, "Jesus, Rodney," came bursting through the door.

"Stupid arm's asleep," Rodney muttered. "What time is it?"

"It's after 9 am," Chuck said as he walked around the suite to get Rodney's things ready for the day. "Go get a shower already. We're due on the set in half an hour."

Instead of going to the bathroom, Rodney got up but walked out of his suite, and crossed to John's. He tried to knock, the tingling sensation growing deeper as blood continued to flow to his freshly freed arm, but was still unable to lift it. So instead he balled up his left fist and knocked on the suite across from his, taking a chance that it was Sheppard's.

A humming sound came from behind the door, which opened half a beat later, and there stood a freshly showered John Sheppard, his hair still wet, but already sticking in a thousand different directions. His face instantly soured as he focused on Rodney. "Oh. McKay," he said, eyes squinting. "What the hell do you want?"

Rodney ignored Sheppard and bustled past him into the suite as he spotted the differences between Sheppard's and his own. "By all means, come in," John said, his voice thick with sarcasm. But before Rodney could start, John looked at him like he had three heads. "The fuck is wrong with your arm, McKay?"

Rodney tried to gesture, then tried again with his left arm. "Asleep," is all he said. 

"You come over here to yell at me some more? Wanna yell at me for that, too?" John asked. "Not that I didn't appreciate your last round." And all at once his expression changed, and he strode across the room quickly, anger showing clearly on his face. "And where the fuck do you get off asking for my dailies? What, did you spend the last three days watching them and trying to figure out how to get me off this movie?"

John's accusations were harsh. But Rodney knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he deserved every barbed word. He crossed his arms, now that his right one had enough blood flow to be able to move, and pursed his lips as he studied Sheppard - and searched his mind for the right words to use. "We need to talk," is what he finally settled on. 

"No," Sheppard shot back. "You tell me what in the hell is going on. Not even the high and mighty Rodney McKay goes out and calls for another actor's dailies," he leaned in close, " _for scenes that he's not even fucking in_." Sheppard walked over and grabbed his coat, a beaten old leather bomber jacket that looked like it used to belong to a fighter pilot. "Answer me. And make it fast, because we're due on the set soon." As if to further his point, Sheppard took a long glance at his watch.

"Okay, explain to me this. Why in the _hell_ have you been wasting your time with the inanity of science fiction all these years?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Oh, that is rich. So you're not only going to insult me but now you want to insult the roles I've taken? A genre that people _love_? Tell me, McKay. How much did my last flop take in at the box office, and compare that to the last two-hour art-house catastrophe that you did publicity for? It's a good genre, and I'm damned good at it. Proud of it."

They stood there for a moment, then another.

"Fuck this shit, I'm out," Sheppard said. But he didn't move toward the door at all. Instead, he got impossibly closer to Rodney. "I don't know what kind of mind game you're trying to pull, McKay, but it's not going to work. You haven't been able to replace me, and I'm sure as hell not going to walk off the set. This movie is damned important to me, and I will be _damned_ if you're going to screw it up for me."

It took Rodney a second to find his voice. And when he did, all he managed was a whispered, "I'm going to ruin the movie."

John's eyes went black. "The fuck you are," John said through gritted teeth. He raised a pointed finger and jabbed it at Rodney's chest, accentuating each word that followed. "You will do your damned job, we will part ways, and you never have to work with me again. We can even do separate publicity." He leaned in close, just warm breath separating their faces and glared into Rodney's eyes.

"You don't understand," Rodney said as he back up, reclaiming some of his personal space. "When I said I was going to ruin the movie-"

"Yeah, yeah," John said. He turned and started to storm out.

"Sheppard. Sheppard. _John_!" Rodney called. He took a chance at using Sheppard's first name. In all the years working with dozens of actors, he barely took the time to learn their names, much less get to use them to make a point. And it worked. John stood there, a hairs breath away from the door with the angriest look on his face. Rodney slowly approached him, hands out to placate his costar. It took a second for the right words to come to him, so when he got to Sheppard's side, he reached out, ignoring the continued tingling in his arm, and grasped Sheppard's shoulder. And he hoped to hell his voice wouldn't quaver.

"When I said I was going to ruin the movie," and he breathed through John's sudden tensing, "it was because I'm not good enough. _Nobody_ is good enough."

Sheppard studied him for a minute, and Rodney hoped that the sincerity in his voice came through. "Good enough for what?" His voice was like a quieted scream through pursed lips.

"For you," Rodney said. "The reason I got your dailies was that I _saw_ the scene." When John gave him a curious look, he kept going. "The scene with the stuffed animal. John - I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, but you're... Jesus Christ, you're fucking _amazing_. And nobody. _Nobody_ alive today, maybe in the last twenty-five years, could hold a candle to that performance."

Hazel eyes, the flecks of gold catching the morning sun from the parted curtains, studied Rodney for what seemed like hours. "I..." Sheppard took a deep breath, and Rodney finally let go of his shoulder. "I need to sit down."

"No," Rodney said. He picked up John's arm and looked at his watch, "You need to get to the set. I still need to take a shower."

Sheppard opened the door, then pulled Rodney out to the hall and then pushed him into his own suite, the door still standing open. "No sense in me going in without you," he said as they crossed into Rodney's room. "We can't shoot until you're there anyway." John sat down on Rodney's bed almost looking like his usual relaxed self, ignoring the two full sized couches and various chairs that were stationed around the room. He said hello to Chuck, who made a quick exit and then gestured for Rodney to get into the shower. So Rodney grabbed some clothes and ran into the bathroom, turned on the water, and then climbed under the hot stream. He let it course over his body for a second and then went to shampoo his hair when John's voice boomed over the sound of the water. "So why the hell were you so pissed off at me, anyway?"

"What?" Rodney balked, even though he knew it was the truth. He lied, "I was never pissed-"

"Cut the shit, Rodney. You were pissed off." John sounded a little closer, and Rodney realized he must be standing just on the outside of the doorjamb. And he liked it when Sheppard called him Rodney; it was almost like they were almost familiar, something Rodney was loathed to do, at least with other actor types. "What gives?"

Rodney made quick work of his hair, then gave one final rinse. He shut off the water, then reached out to grab the towel, which magically appeared within arm's length. It was then that he realized Sheppard must be a hell of a lot closer than he realized. "Thanks," is all he said as he ran the thick material over his hair, then his body, and finally tied it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower. "Now don't yell at me again," Rodney said, "but honestly I was pissed because I sat there, watching the craft of a man who is ten times the actor I am. And then I thought about all the movies you _have_ made over the years, and couldn't help but think about all the movies that you _could have_ made over the years." He picked up his boxers, and Sheppard turned around, to give him at least a modicum of privacy. With his shorts and a t-shirt on, he walked out of the bathroom past John and began getting dressed, happy that Chuck had laid out something for him today. "I mean, have you ever thought about what your life would be like if you hadn't made forty-seven variations of the same movie over your career?"

John appeared to think about it for a minute, then shook his head. "What's done is done," he said. "And besides, I'm proud of a lot of those movies. I've got a pretty devoted fanbase. And while they're more apt to show up wearing a Ranger Murdoch outfit, or maybe a Pirate Longhorn costume, I'm still glad to have each and every one of them."

Rodney took a break from getting dressed to study John for a moment. And what he found was that John was probably the most sincere person he'd ever worked with. Even though he, himself, knew that the movies might not be the best cinematically, he was making a difference in the world to the moviegoing public.

"C'mon," Sheppard said with a tug of Rodney's arm. "Otherwise we're gonna be late." He stuck his head in the hall and called, "Hey Chuck, can you get Lorne?" and then leaned back into Rodney's suite. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said. He shuffled into a pair of loafers and then stepped by Sheppard where he found Chuck talking to Sheppard's PA. 

"You two go on down. We'll be there in a second," Chuck said as he walked into Lorne's room. "We need to coordinate our schedules again."

Rodney nodded, and Sheppard added, "Okay, you two. See you downstairs in a few," and then put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. He pressed the call button, and the elevator showed up seconds later. Sheppard let Rodney step in first, and then flashed his card and pressed the button for the lobby. "Oh, your jacket," he said as the doors closed.

It was then that Rodney realized he wore only a thin t-shirt, nothing more substantial. And though they were shooting indoors, he would need something to chase away the bitter chill in the air for their short treks outside. He reached out to press the button for their floor, but John swatted his hand away.

"Here," John said as he took off his leather jacket, which revealed the tailored sweater that held snug against his body, showing off his broad shoulders, pectorals, and biceps.

"No, no, I can't," Rodney replied. "Besides, I'll just look stupid." When John gave him a look, Rodney added, "It looks good on you, but on me? I'll just look ridiculous."

John rolled his eyes. And instead of pulling it back, John helped Rodney get the jacket on, and Rodney folded himself into it. It was warm and smelled of Sheppard, and even _felt_ like it was cut right for him. "God, this is like butter."

"Looks good on you, Rodney," John said as he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the expansive lobby. So they walked out of the elevator and headed to the waiting car, both holding a smile on their faces. And Rodney figured that he just might have made a friend.


	8. John's POV

From the moment John and Rodney showed up on set, there was a definite lack of tension that had been there before. Rodney was so much more at ease than he had been the first couple weeks of the shoot and even spared him a genuine smile from time to time. John knew it was genuine because he'd been in the business long enough to know the difference between someone who meant something, and someone who was just blowing smoke up your ass.

He had to grin to himself, because he realized that somewhere between their hotel rooms and the set, between them seething at each other and then Rodney confessing his insecurities to what he said was John's superior acting ability, he'd started to consider his costar as 'Rodney' in his head, and not 'McKay'. Probably said something more about him than McKay, but it wasn't something he was going to worry too much about.

Maybe he'd just made a new friend.

After spending time in makeup and wardrobe, where John flustered Rodney just a bit by winking at him as the makeup artist tutted far too aggressively about the bags under Rodney's eyes, only to have Rodney give it right back to her because today was his character's "exhausted" scene, so the bags were quite apropos. Afterward, they were led by Chuck to where Gus had stationed himself in a nearby part of the soundstage. Because it was their first real scene together, Gus had some words of direction and motivation that he wanted them to follow. "Remember, Jacob and Nathan are both cut from the same cloth, so act your truth. You're likely to have a tension between the two of you, even though you're not sharing the screen. Nathan is coming off a few stressful shifts at work, and has been up at odd hours talking to Jacob, because John, your character Jacob is losing grip on reality and doesn't understand that it's not okay to call someone at three in the morning."

In John's head, he could see this scene as something called up during the publicity campaign. Though the storyline itself was a study in depression, loss, and mania, he watched as Rodney, clad in his work clothes, laid on the small bed in his "apartment" and passed out. The first time he watched Rodney faceplant onto the mattress, he had to smile. It was almost comedic, though he'd never tell Rodney that. He just enjoyed watching Rodney try to figure out the best way to fall, declared whatever he'd come up with was the best one, and said he was ready for a take.

~*~*~

The first take had gone perfectly, or at least that's what Rodney thought from his vantage point, which was face down on some of the softest sheets he'd ever laid down on. But Gus called, "Cut! Reset!" after John finished whatever he was doing, and then pulled John away to have a side conversation. Their private conversation complete, Gus pulled Rodney over a few seconds later and explained that they'd had an idea. They were going to do the shot a little differently than was written and wanted him to go with it.

As they were directed back to their marks, John who was all smiles and joking leaned in close to Rodney, his lips at Rodney's ear. "Rodney, I know we were sniping at each other up until like five minutes ago," which made Rodney chuff out an unexpected laugh. "But please, whatever you do, trust me on this. Okay? Do you trust me?" John whispered. He leaned back, and Rodney could see the sincerity in his eyes. And Rodney smiled, because yes. He absolutely did. So he nodded, and John did as well. John squeezed his elbow, and they went back to the mark.

"Camera rolling. And, _action_!"

Rodney entered as he did before, and pulled the same pratfall into the bed. He visibly relaxed, indicating he was asleep and stayed that way as he heard John shuffle through his own blocking. But the scene stretched further this time, and there were a few other sounds that Rodney cataloged as John did whatever his scene called for. The scene was originally supposed to be John breaking into the house, have him look in at Rodney, and then sneak back out, Rodney's character entirely unaware.

But Gus never yelled cut. And the scene stretched further and further.

Rodney fought with the idea of possibly ruining the take, and finally turned over and opened his eyes. What he found was disturbing. Standing half a dozen feet away was John Sheppard, a deranged look in his eye and the longest kitchen knife glinting in artificial sunlight at his side. Rodney gasped and automatically pulled back as fast as his arms and legs could move him until his feet were on the ground. He stood at the head of his bed, terrified, as John just stood there holding the knife, his usually happy-go-lucky face covered in something sinister that could only be described as evil.

"Cut!" Gus yelled a few seconds later, then, "That was fucking _perfect_!"

It was just a shot. Rodney finally started to breathe again. It was _just_ a fucking shot. His breath caught, but in an instant, John was at his side, the knife gone as John's hands came to Rodney's shoulders. "Rodney, it's okay. It's okay."

"Jesus," Rodney finally said through a gasp. "You were... Good god, that didn't even look like you."

John looked a little sheepish as he reached up and scratched his neck. It was something Rodney saw him do whenever he seemed to be nervous. "Please don't be mad, okay?" John asked. "I had an idea, and Gus wanted to try it out. Might be better motivation for Nathan to get Jacob the help he needs, you know?"

It took Rodney a few seconds for the idea to percolate. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely," he said as the idea turned over in his head. "Jesus Christ you scared me, though."

John squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "I told you to trust me, Rodney," he said. "You okay?"

Rodney nodded, even as he had yet to catch his breath. 

Gus called them over a few seconds later. Turns out what they'd done was cinematic magic, but it threw a wrench in the script. There were a few things that they might have to rethink, so Gus decided that he was going to bring the scriptwriter in, and have her, himself, and a few others sit down to figure out the differences. "She lives here in Vancouver, and I've already been in touch with her about other things, so this shouldn't take too long."

"What does that mean about production schedule?" John asked, even as he kept himself close to Rodney.

"So, unfortunately, boys, that means we're going to push a few days. Which means that you're going to have a couple days off. Hope that's okay," Gus said.

John nodded, as did Rodney.

"I've never actually gotten to shoot here, before," John said. "Maybe I'll hang out in the city a little?"

"Come with me," Rodney said - though he wasn't sure why. First, he was making friends with John, and now he wanted to hang out with him? But he wasn't going to chance it. "I grew up here. I can show you _my_ Vancouver."

John smiled at Rodney. "I'd like that."


	9. Rodney and John's POV

That night after shooting was complete, and after Rodney reluctantly gave John his jacket back, Chuck having brought Rodney's own sometime during the day, the duo left the soundstage and went back to the hotel. Not that Rodney realized much of anything when John was around, though. What had started during a short break after the filming of ' _the_ scene,' continued throughout the rest of the day. It was like catching up with a friend that he hadn't seen in years; John was just someone Rodney had to catch up with. What Rodney didn't realize until much later, when Chuck ended up pointing it out, was that when he was busy talking, that John would put just his fingertips on his elbow and guide him around the set.

Now Rodney hated to be touched by other people unless it was his family (when he tolerated it) or when a scene called for it. But there was something almost comforting, warm about John leading him back to their seats or wherever they needed to be for the next shot. Rodney supposed that it was John's attitude and friendship, something Rodney hadn't expected. But with the unease, and if Rodney were honest, the mistreatment he directed at John, he was glad to have it.

Once they walked back into the hotel, with John touching Rodney's elbow as they made the way to the elevator, Rodney asked, "Have dinner with me tonight?" And instantly he remembered similar words from John weeks back, and how _that_ had worked out. He knew he wasn't able to hide the expression of regret that he experienced from their first aborted dinner. John, who recognized it in an instant, just winked at Rodney, and then gave him the smallest of head-shakes. It was comforting for Rodney to know that what was in the past stayed in the past, and John was willing to continue to look forward.

They made their way up to their suites, John nodding as they parted ways. Rodney sluffed out of his coat and cleaned himself up, taking a quick shower to remove the makeup that had been applied. As he stepped out of the shower, he reached for the towel, only to find it a couple of feet away from where it had been that morning. It was then that he realized that earlier that morning, _John_ must have been standing close enough to give him the towel. And for some reason, that made him smile.

As he was dressing, he heard a quick knock on the door, followed by the internal lock clicking over, so Rodney figured it was Chuck. He looked up and saw Chuck duck his head in, and then John entered. "You decent?" John called as he walked into the room, then turned and said, "Thanks, Chuck."

Rodney finished buttoning his slacks, happy to find John wearing his leather jacket again. "Almost," he said, then went looking for his shoes. "You still want to do Vancouver tomorrow?"

John nodded, a smile on his face. "Hells yeah," he said, and Rodney had to smile at his enthusiasm. "How 'bout we talk about it over dinner?" He sat down on Rodney's bed, again ignoring the other furniture and laid back on it. "God I love these beds..."

It wasn't Rodney's fault that he took a second to rake his eyes up John's body. Between the top of the well worn black jeans and a black t-shirt, Rodney saw a sliver of tanned, furry flesh where the shirt had ridden up. Just the sight was enough to start filling his head with delectable ideas, though he tossed them out like yesterday's newspaper when his gaze traveled further up and he saw John, now leaning up on his elbows with a smile on his face. 

The moment hung there, room gripped in silence until Rodney cleared his throat. He found his shoes, then went over and picked them up. "What kind of food do you want?" he asked. He looked over at John and could swear that he just caught John doing the same thing he'd done before. And wasn't _that_ something he would have to think about later?

"Lorne says there's a great little Chinese spot around the corner that makes the best lemon chi-"

"No, no, no," Rodney said by way of interruption. "Sorry, but I'm allergic to citrus. Any kind." 

John gave him a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously. Like deathly allergic," Rodney added.

John nodded. "So we skip the citrus then," he said. He got off the bed and stretched, Rodney automatically chancing a glance at John's midsection. "You know Indian food doesn't have much citrus in it," he said, "as long as you skip the tandoori. You like Indian food, Rodney?" he asked as he handed Rodney his jacket, then again used his fingertips to guide Rodney to the door.

"Love it," he said.

~*~*~

It was past midnight when John and Rodney made it back to the hotel. The night had gone well, and the two had carried on like they were long lost friends. Usually, Rodney wouldn't stay out so late during a shoot, but since Gus gave them the next couple of days off, he didn't feel guilty about it. If he were honest with himself, he'd even say that he had a good time.

If he were _really_ honest with himself, he'd admit that there was something about John that intrigued him. Attracted him. But Rodney knew all too well about on-set romances going pear-shaped. Brangelina, anyone?

He went to bed with a smile on his face, but something uneasy in the pit of his stomach. And when he woke up the next morning, that uncomfortable feeling was still there, along with something that was probably related to the spicy curry he'd had the night before. Before he could think about it, he grabbed his phone and called his sister.

When Jeannie answered, his first instinct was to pull the phone away from the distressing noises that came through the receiver. It sounded as if there was a war going on at his sister's place. "Hello? Meredith? What's wrong?" 

Rodney winced at his name. "Hey, you and the English teacher are going to work today?"

"Yeah," she said, then tried to shush her daughter. "Maddie I need that pot to make breakfast. Can you play with something else? What's up?" she asked as she turned her attention back to Rodney.

"Could I borrow Madison today?" he asked. He figured that if he had Madison to watch, he'd be less apt to make an ass of himself in front of John.

It wasn't _that_ odd a question. Even though Rodney didn't get spotted that often, he was even less likely to if he had Madison on his arm. Children were good for diversions. Just that this time, the diversion was not just the general public, but for Rodney, too. 

"I thought you were shooting through next week?"

"Gus has to meet with the writer. He and John improvised a scene, and it went so well that they want to do some script rewrites. So John and I have the next couple of days off."

"John?" There was a pause. "Wait a minute. "You said you were shooting with some action movie junkie. Is John John Sheppard?"

Rodney didn't hold back the sigh, which escaped his chest and caused static over the line. "Yes, yes," he muttered. "And before you say it, yes, I know he's Kaleb's favorite."

"Well I've got to get to the office soon, but Kaleb doesn't have office hours until 10 am, so if you want to drop by and pick her up, then you _have_ to bring John."

Another sigh. "Hey, I let you meet Ron Howard, didn't I?" he asked. "Isn't that enough?"

"Ron Howard is a brilliant director. But John Sheppard? Jesus, Mer, he's so hot he's on _both_ our cheat lists, mine _and_ Kaleb's. So bring him, or no deal," she said. And before Rodney could rebut her, she hung up.

Rodney tossed his phone to the bed, then stretched. John was right; he'd slept astonishingly well last night, and the bed was quite comfortable. And just like that, Rodney's thoughts were back on John.

When John showed up at his room later, Rodney let him in. "Don't forget your jacket this time," he said.

"Hey," Rodney said as he tried not to sound sheepish. "My sister's asked me to watch her kid today. Her name's Madison; she's six."

John looked a little disappointed but shook his head as he stood up. "Okay, no problem," he said. "Call me later if you want to get lunch or something. After you're done."

"No, no, no. John, wait," Rodney said. "I thought we could still go today, but just with Maddy in tow? Unless you don't like kids?"

"I fucking _love_ kids," John said. Rodney pointed at him, and he immediately added, "And I know it's not appropriate to cuss around them, so best behavior. Scouts honor."

"Figures," Rodney said as he grabbed his coat.

John looked at him, his forehead scrunched up. "What?"

"That you were a boy scout," Rodney said. He grabbed his phone, wallet, and room key. "Well, come on," he said, then bustled John out the room.

John's assistant Lorne had managed to hire a car for the day including a driver. It was a big SUV, which Rodney was quite happy with because there was plenty of room to put between him and John. Not that John was in any trouble of Rodney jumping him. Well, a minuscule chance at best. But at least with some room between them, there was a lot less of a chance that would happen.

They made it to Jeannie's house half an hour later where Rodney made Kaleb promise not to be a star-struck buffoon. Still, John was gracious with meeting him. He was genuine when it came to meeting people, which even though Rodney couldn't stomach it, endeared him even more. They only struggled with Madison's car seat for a few minutes before the driver politely asked them to step aside and took care of it himself. "So where to?" the driver asked once settled into the driver's seat.

"Can we go to the aquarium, Uncle Meredith?" 

Rodney couldn't shush her fast enough.

"Uncle _Meredith_?" John asked.

"Yes, yes, my secret is out," Rodney said as he rolled his eyes. "My real first name is Meredith, okay? But can you see that in lights on the marquee of some Broadway stage? Or in the credits of a movie? No, I couldn't, either. So ever since I started acting, I dropped Meredith and just went with Rodney. 's easier."

"Well, you certainly don't look like a Meredith to me," John teased. "Promise, Rodney."

"Aquarium?" Rodney asked, which John nodded. "Okay, kiddo," Rodney said as he sat back in his seat. "Aquarium it is."

The drive back across town wasn't too bad since the morning commute was now behind them. Before they got out of the SUV, though, John donned a pair of aviator sunglasses, even though it was overcast and gray. And then he remembered that John was a household name, had been since just about his first picture. Rodney just nodded, then got out behind him and leaned back in to help Madison escape her seat.

Rodney'd forgotten just how exhausting it could be chasing after a child. In the past, he would take Madison out with Jeannie, and they would share the duty. But since he didn't want to impose on John too much, he made sure to answer every question, carry her when she needed, pick her up when she fell and kissed every boo-boo. Being a parent was exhausting.

As Rodney considered hiring a nanny for his sister and Kaleb, he realized that they hadn't been recognized even once. He thought that John stood out more because of his tan and sunglasses, but honestly, those just made John blend in with the people around them even more. Rodney'd tried hats before, but they just made him look like someone trying to cover up a bald spot. And sunglasses never fit him well, though he used them on occasion. Especially during the height of tourist season in New York when one of his plays had gotten media coverage. But this was Vancouver, so he figured, 'Why bother?'

Once Madison had become tired of the aquarium, and they'd spent far too long with the penguins, she declared that it was time to go to the bridge. Of course 'the bridge' was Capilano Suspension Bridge, which was indeed a pretty sight - during the Summer - a rope and wood bridge suspended over luscious green that plummeted down hundreds of feet. But there was fresh snow on the ground and might be slippery. "Maddy, it might be too icy."

"Not if you wore boots," John said as he flashed his black military-style boots Rodney's way. "Maddy, did you wear your boots?" he asked, knowing that Kaleb had dressed her in them before they left the house. 

Rodney looked down at his feet, on which he wore a nice pair of loafers. "Don't worry, Rodney," John said as he bumped Rodney's shoulder, then leaned close to Rodney's ear. "I'll hold your hand and make sure you don't fall."

It took Rodney's breath away.

Before Rodney found his voice, a doddy looking woman who was 75 if she was a day, smiled at them. "Your daughter's beautiful," she said. "And you two make such handsome parents."

Rodney was again stopped from responding when John put his arm around him and said, "Why thank you, ma'am," in the thickest drawl he could muster. "We're real proud of our little Maddie here. First in her class."

The woman smiled, clasped her hands together, then took her husband's hand. "Such a cute couple," Rodney heard her say as they toddled off.

"What the hell was that?" Rodney asked, though there wasn't any heat to his voice. He was more shocked than anything, because John was an action-movie actor, and something like being spotted as a gay man raising a child might hurt his career. Then again, Gus' movie was likely to redefine him, letting him choose what role he might want. So maybe it wasn't a bad thing after all.

"Just a bit of acting, McKay," John said. He bumped Rodney's shoulder again. "You should try it sometime." He held the biggest grin that Rodney'd ever seen in the short time they'd known each other.

John picked up Madison and put her on his shoulders for the hike back to the SUV. "Oh funny, haha," Rodney finally said. "So hilarious I forgot to laugh."

~*~*~

John enjoyed the morning that he'd spent with Rodney and his niece. Teasing Rodney seemed to be a familial thing, something he'd seen a little with Kaleb and heard much of when John insisted on treating Rodney and Madison to lunch with Jeannie. Watching the two siblings go at it was something he didn't know he needed in his life until he had a front-row seat. And even though he'd had a brother of his own, they had never been close like Rodney and Jeannie. So after they'd settled into a booth at Jeannie's work, the cafeteria deemed "edible" by Rodney, he sat back and watched the two go at it.

Afterward their big outing, John thought that they were probably going to head back to the hotel after dropping off their young charge. But after Madison's quick nap in the car, she woke up asking, "Can we go ice skating Uncle Meredith?" She then added a "Please?" that lasted two whole breaths.

"Umm," John said, "I don't know how to ice skate," he said.

"Don't worry," Rodney said. "We'll help you out. Won't we Maddie?"

Madison nodded her head enthusiastically. 

Rodney turned to him, a curious look on his face. "Wait a minute. I distinctly remember some pictures of you on a skateboard. Are you saying you can ride one of those, but you can't ice skate?"

"Never learned," John said as he shook his head.

"Huh," was all Rodney could respond with.

Since it was after lunch on a Wednesday, when they showed up at some place called "Robson Square," it was pretty dead. There were only a few businesspeople hanging around, busying themselves as they went from meeting to meeting. As for the ice, there were just a couple of people skating. Was he really going to do this?

After he watched Madison enthusiastically running to the counter where you could rent skates, he knew he was in for it. 

John got out of the SUV and ambled to catch up with Madison, though Rodney appeared at his side a few steps in. "You look like you're walking to your death," Rodney said. "If you don't want to do this, you know you don't have to."

It took a second for John to get comfortable. He breathed in deep, then let it out. "Hey, my publicist says I should try new things. So why not?" Of course Amelia _probably_ meant going to more art-house type movie premiers and being seen at museum fundraisers or galas for non-profits. But maybe ice skating instead of surfing as a past time would help get the idea out of people's heads that he was just a California surf boy.

They picked out skates, Rodney's treat, and got recognized by the attendant behind the counter. "I just loved your work, Mister Sheppard," she said. "You, too, Mister McKay," she added, though her doe-eyes remained tightly focused on John. 

Niceties attended to, they grabbed their skates. But the attendant perked up again. "Would it be too much to ask for an autograph, Mister Sheppard?"

John forced a smile. Yes, it was part of the life that he kept. However, at that moment he just wanted to be an average person and try something new. He just wanted to get out on the ice with Rodney and Madison. "Sure," he said, then looked at the counter. "What would you like me to autograph?" He hoped it wasn't her breasts; Madison was here, and he didn't want to look like some pervert.

"This is fine," she replied and pulled out a pair of white skates. They weren't the same dull tan color that the rented skates were, and he figured they were a personal pair. She handed him a marker, too, so John wrote what he almost always did. 'Reach for the stars!' and then scribbled in his signature. 

"Here you go. Thanks," John said with a wink, then turned to join Rodney and Madison. But instead of finding them on the nearby benches, he found Rodney still at his side. "So we doing this?" he asked. "If I get any visible bruises, I'm _totally_ blaming it on you." It was an attempt to lighten the mood because he felt guilty Rodney hadn't been asked for an autograph, yet he didn't bring it up, either. He put his fingertips on Rodney's elbow to lead them to the benches.

"That saying," Rodney said. "Why do people always use that?" To make his point, Rodney gestured with his skate back toward the counter.

John felt like he missed something. "What saying?" he finally asked as they took a seat. He watched as Madison made quick work of her boots and started putting on her skates.

"Reach for the stars," Rodney said as he unlaced his loafers. "I'll never understand that one," he continued. 

It took a second for John to catch up to Rodney's train of thought. "Just an expression, Rodney," he said. "You know, like 'Be all you can be' or 'Never give up, never surrender.'"

"No, I know what it means," Rodney replied. "Now don't go telling Jeannie that, because she's an astrophysicist and she'll just call me stupid. But why the stars? You can only see them at night, and when you're far away from the city, which means it's just you, and you're going to reach for something that no one else can see. So why not reach for the sun? You'll be out in the light of day where everyone can watch as you accomplish your goals." He tied a double-bow on his second skate. "It just makes more sense to me."

John took what Rodney said in, considered it, and after a second, had to nod. Because Rodney was indeed right. 

They sat there in silence for a moment, pulled out of it when Madison sprinted to the rink, pushed herself onto the ice, and instantly contorted herself into a pirouette. "Holy crap," John said. "You'd better not expect me to try and do that."

Rodney reached out his hand, which John took. He knew it was the practical thing to do, but at the same time, knew it was a bit of intimacy that he wasn't used to. Sure, he'd held a guy's hand before. But that was mostly for movies. Besides, the times he'd spent being intimate with men only lasted as long as the mutual handjob had, and that was long before his career had taken off.

"It's okay," Rodney said as if he could read John's mind. He wiggled his fingers, which John took, soft, warm skin against his own.

John finally let go of the focus and just went with it as he made his way to his feet, which was kind of simple, though he figured he probably looked like a dog that'd had booties put on the first time. Every time he lifted his foot to step, he did it in an over-exaggerated manner. "I can do this," John muttered as he watched Rodney step onto the ice. "This is kinda easy."

He tried to drop Rodney's hand, but Rodney just shook his head. "How 'bout you get on the ice first, bub?" 

John paused for the shortest of beats, then took one step onto the ice - and immediately locked his knees and ankles. "Oh shit," he said.

Rodney reached out and took his other hand, skating backward like nobody's business as Madison did some sort of jump over in a far corner.

"Just look at me and relax," Rodney said as John tightened his grip around Rodney's hands. "Kick and push," he said as he let go of one of John's hands and came to John's side, "kick and push." 

Though his body was completely stiff, John tried to relax. But he hadn't moved at all once he'd stepped onto the ice; that was all Rodney's doing. "Focus on me," Rodney said again, and John fought every instinct to keep his eyes glued on his skates and looked up, latching onto Rodney's brilliant blue eyes. "Focus on me," Rodney said again, and John did. He felt Rodney's grip on his hand loosen gently as a big smile overtook Rodney's face. "You're doing it," Rodney said through a big grin.

Against his better judgment, John looked down and found that indeed, he was gently kicking and pushing, a little with each leg. "Oh shit," he said. "This is cool."

It was then that he looked up and saw Rodney had dropped both of his hands and was skating freely in front of him, making skating backward look like something as simple as finger painting. And then he saw the half-wall of the rink, coming up fast.

"What do I do?" John asked.

Instead of answering, Rodney came to John's side, put a hand at his waist, and gently guided them around the turn until John had another long straight run. "Yeah, just get the fundamentals down first," Rodney said as he let go of John's waist, John instantly missing the contact. "Then we can work on advanced stuff like turning." The level of snark in Rodney's voice was unmistakable. 

"Haha, very funny," John said. And then instantly he felt his feet give way out from under him and fell to the ice. He was sure that there would be a bruise the next day but appreciated that Rodney didn't laugh, but instead came to his side and helped him back up to do it all over again. All while six-year-old Madison performed some routine that was probably perfected years before by a gold medal Olympian.


	10. Rodney and John's POV

The day spent with John had been probably one of Rodney's favorites while working. He'd not only gotten to spend the day just being a regular person and seeing some of his favorite sites of Vancouver, but also got to spend it with John. Sure, he'd taken Madison along just to be safe, because he didn't entirely trust himself around John. Not that John would have done anything; he was as straight as they'd come. But still, it felt good to go ice skating, if only because it afforded him a chance to hold John's hand.

John had even gotten comfortable enough to do a couple of turns on his own, which made Rodney grin like a loon. But the afternoon outing had tuckered all of them out. And as they drove back from Jeannie's house, having dropped off Madison, John and Rodney shared the back seat, where Rodney fell asleep to the familiar hum coming from John, that somehow no longer hurt his chest. It was soft as a lullaby and soothed him until he gave in to sleep for a short nap.

They had split once back at the hotel when Evan pounced on them once they had arrived. He handed each of them a copy of the new script, saying that the rewrites had been finished already, and they should read up on them because they would resume shooting in the morning. 

"That fast?" Rodney asked as John asked, "What time's call?"

"0800, boss," Lorne said. "Sorry, Mister McKay-"

"Rodney."

"Sorry, Rodney," Lorne continued. "I don't know what time your call is, but I know in the script John's got a couple extra scenes to shoot, so maybe yours is later? Chuck would know for sure."

"Thanks," Rodney said as he opened the script and scanned for changes. "Hey Sheppard," he said as the trio started for the elevator. "Thanks. You know, for today. It was..." Rodney searched for the right word and settled on, "fun." Because it had been. He hadn't smiled that much in a long time.

"It was," John agreed, "but my ass is gonna be sore in the morning."

Lorne's eyes bugged out just a wee bit, and he went completely still.

"Not _that_ you pervert," John said as he elbowed his PA in the side. "We went ice skating. Fell on my ass a couple times."

The elevator dinged and let them out. "Maybe we can go again? If we get another free day?" Rodney asked. 

John just smiled at him. "Cool," he said. And with that, and a wink, John and Evan went into John's suite.

Rodney stood there for a minute, then fished out his key and went into his own suite, where he found Chuck reading on the couch. "Hey, Chuck," he asked. "Got the script from John's guy. What time's call tomorrow?"

"You've got a 10 a.m. call," Chuck said as he stood up. "You look almost...relaxed," Chuck said. "Good day?"

Rodney couldn't help but smile as he recollected the day that he'd shared. "Yeah, definitely," he said. 

"Figure you'd probably like the night in like you usually do when there're script updates?" Chuck asked. And though Rodney would have enjoyed another meal with John, he just nodded. "Good. I already had the hotel put together some snacks for you that'll be up soon. Let them know what you want for dinner, and they'll make it."

"Thanks, Chuck," Rodney muttered as he focused on the script. He was so engrossed in it that it barely registered when Chuck left the room. He appreciated the rewrite, not only because it refocused the script to where he figured it would serve them more, but because it also gave him and John a little more screen time together - even if John's character Jacob was locked in a mental institution, and Rodney's character Nathan was there as a visitor.

Sometime later, it could have been a few minutes or couple hours, Rodney wasn't sure, there was a knock at the door. But before he could get up to answer it, the lock clicked, and the door swung open, a cheerful woman in a crisp brown uniform bustling in saying, "Room service!"

"Just in time," came a voice behind her, and John entered the room. "I was just about to start gnawing on the sofa."

Rodney couldn't help but smile. So John had decided to join him for dinner after all. Or at least snacks. Though based on the amount of food, it looked like Chuck went a little overboard with ordering since the linen-covered tray was overflowing with an abundance of foodstuffs. 

"Sorry, McKay," John said, "but I added some stuff onto your order. You can bill me later," he said, then winked at Rodney. He dipped into a pocket and pulled out a couple of bills - American. "For you," he said, handing over two twenties. "Sorry, all I've got on me is American." He then took the charge slip and signed it, no doubt adding in a generous tip there, too.

"Thank you," the staffer said, then smiled at both of them. She then quickly made her way from the room, as John pulled the food-laden trolly up to the sofa where Rodney sat. "I'm starved," he said as he pulled out a bag of pretzels and a couple stalks of celery. "So what do you think of the changes?" he asked as he sat down next to Rodney.

Rodney smiled. In the last couple of days, John had changed from being nothing more than another body on the set of his movie to not just a coworker, but friend. At least that's what it felt like. And it felt more natural than any friendship Rodney'd ever forged in the business. "We've got a few more scenes to work out," Rodney said.

"How do you think I'll look in a straightjacket?" John asked, then bobbed his eyebrows. "Maybe I can improvise a few lines about eating your liver with some fava beans." 

Rodney immediately consulted his script, because he apparently had missed something. Jacob in a straightjacket when Nathan came to visit him? "Where is that?" he asked as he pored over the new scenes. "I must have missed that part."

It was then that he heard the braying laugh of a donkey, and glanced up at John, from whose chest the unattractive laugh was coming from. "Oh my god," Rodney said as John laughed next to him. "Nobody warned me you were a dork."

~*~*~

John and Rodney had shared the meal and stayed up far too late going over the script, running lines with each other, and talking about everything and yet nothing. On more than one occasion, as Rodney watched John transform into Jacob, he had to remember that it was just John. The transformation was subtle, yet the look in John's eyes when he was Jacob was something so unsettling that it caused Rodney to want to get up and walk away from him. 

Long after they'd been yawning, the nearby clock ticking closer to midnight, they finally parted, though secretly Rodney didn't want it to end. He knew John was straight, but there was such a feeling of comfort and relaxation around him, that he started letting his mind wander away from their professional relationship to something that involved a lot more than holding hands, and a lot fewer clothes.

"Well, I'd better," John said as he stood up. He leaned into the stretch, his black t-shirt rucking up again and showing the trail of hair that started just below John's bellybutton and continued on downward, where it disappeared beneath the button-fly of his jeans. Even though Rodney knew he shouldn't look, it was almost automatic. 

And when he latched onto John's gaze, knowing that he'd been caught, he blushed, even as the golden flecks of John's eyes caught in the overhead light and beamed at him playfully. John patted Rodney's shoulder, then made his way to the door. "G'night, Rodney," he said as he slipped the door open quietly, then stepped into the hall.

"Good night, John," Rodney replied. And as the room filled with silence, Rodney got up, stripped out of his clothes, and climbed into the shower, where thoughts of John's naked torso filled his imagination so vividly that his cock, which had been at half-semi all night, came to attention. He jerked himself, pinching a nipple between his fingers, and letting thoughts of John fill his imagination until he painted the glass of the shower with his come, then washed it down the drain.

~*~*~

The next few days of filming went smoothly, with John and Rodney playing off each other like they'd been working together for years. And while Rodney's character Nathan didn't change all that much, Rodney was awed by the transformation that John made as he slipped further and further into Jacob. First was Jacob's arrest by the police, where John and Rodney shared what ended up being an aborted kiss as the police stormed Nathan's house, Jacob collapsing at Nathan's side. 

Never had Rodney wanted to kiss another co-star before. Yes, kissing and sex scenes that were part of a film shoot were to be nothing more than clinical. But more than once Rodney found himself watching as John's tongue darted out during rehearsal, moistening slightly-chapped lips that he so desperately wanted to taste.

Whenever it got too much, Rodney would excuse himself and take a walk outside to come back to the moment. It didn't help that he found himself humming the same tune John had hummed since the first time they met. Even worse, after the third time Rodney walked in from the cold, John stepped to his side and slipped his leather jacket over Rodney's shoulders, saying, "You're making _me_ cold just looking at you, buddy."

As much as he hated it, the days seemed to slip past them until they were on the final day of shooting for Rodney. John had additional shots that he had to do, as he 'closed' the film, his descent into madness completed with his transformation from Jacob to his dead partner Thomas. John, who Rodney knew took his craft seriously, shocked Rodney when he walked into Rodney's suite, his messy black hair replaced with a bleached-blond that rivaled whatever latest starlet Hollywood was promoting as the next up and coming actress to watch. "Holy shit," Rodney said. He didn't hesitate when John plopped down on the couch next to him, Rodney's melancholy mood escaping the room like an unwanted guest, to reach out and touch it. "It's... _blond_."

"Took like three dye jobs," John said as he ran his own fingers through his hair, Rodney not caring that their fingers bumped. "But if I need to come into Thomas, I needed the transformation to be complete. Besides," he said as he pointed to his messy hair, "ain't no wig gonna recreate my crazy hair."

"Oh, I'm sure the makeup and stylists could get it right," Rodney said. "Though there's probably not enough styling gel in all of British Columbia to get a wig to set like your hair."

"Hey," John countered, sounding defensive as he pointed to his hair, "it has a mind of its own. I don't have to do anything to this shit, and it'll just happen." When Rodney smirked at him, John added, "Serious. Go look in my bathroom right now."

"No, no," he said as Chuck knocked, opened the door, then stood stock still as he saw John's hair color. "I trust you," he said as John stood up.

~*~*~

Even though Rodney knew that he appeared to everyone that he was happy with it being his last day of shooting, inside, he was screaming. Screaming because today was the last day of the shoot. And because Rodney was a complete bastard to himself, he'd already scheduled to start rehearsal for playback in New York in a week's time. He gave himself just enough time between projects to catch up on sleep for a couple of days, and then jump right in with both feet on whatever his professional life handed him.

His professional life needed to have a talk with his personal life. Because his own life was soon to have a John Sheppard shaped void that not even work could fill.

The shooting had been moved to a more upscale neighborhood where Nathan lived. As the SUV that carried John, Rodney, Lorne, and Chuck pulled up to the house, Rodney said, "Wow," a bit louder than he thought.

"What?" John asked.

Rodney took in the sight for another few seconds, then shook his head. "When I was doing research on Nathan, you know, how much pharmacists made in a year, their personalities, hobbies, et cetera, I had to picture where he would live. And this is damned close. Right down to the front porch."

"'s better than the shithole Jacob and Thomas had," John replied. And though most of Jacob and Thomas's shots were done on a soundstage, Rodney'd been shown the exterior - which indeed had been rough. "That place was run down, needed a paint job, and about two solid months worth of work."

Rodney was about to reply when Lorne grabbed John's attention. So instead, he nodded at Sheppard, then followed Chuck to his trailer.

John had the first few shots of the day, which took virtually no time at all to complete. When it was Rodney's time to share the shot, so after a quick trip to wardrobe and makeup, Rodney walked up to where John stood. John lit up and gave him a wink. "Hey, buddy," he said. And wasn't it weird, John's voice coming from someone who barely looked like John anymore? "You ready for this?"

"This is gonna be interesting," Rodney said. And then, because his brain hated him, he reached into his pocket. "Chapstick?" he asked, and then almost immediately winced. "I mean, not that you need it or anything," he blabbered, and then suddenly all he could look at was John's lips, even more, entranced when John's tongue darted out and wetted them. He turned back to the building's façade just as he felt John's hand on his own.

"Give it," was all John said. Then he exaggerated his movements as he put chapstick on himself, treating everyone around to a loud, "SCHMOCK" sound as he evened the chapstick on his own lips. "Thanks, Rodney," he said, then handed it back.

"I swear, how anyone ever thought you were cool is a mystery to me," Rodney replied. 

John just gave him the biggest smile, to which Rodney replied, "Dork!" and then went to his mark.

They blocked the shot a few times, then ran through a quick rehearsal, trying everything except the kiss. Gus said that he wanted to try and get it in one take and that the kiss needed to be authentic. Then Gus pulled John and Rodney aside, giving direction only to them. It was intimate like Rodney figured the scene would be. "I know that such an intimate moment shared between two characters - two people - is something that should be sacred. John, you have to treat it like that, because it's the moment that Jacob untethers from reality and truly becomes Thomas. And Rodney, I know that having a man who held you at knife-point is going to be disturbing. But at the same time, you've come to have compassion for Jacob. You need to provide that spark that burns away Jacob's last tether to himself, and lets him become Thomas." Gus nodded to them both, and then explained that they were going to focus on the scene with the kiss at first, just to get it out of the way, and then focus on John's character Jacob walking up the stairs, Nathan watching Jacob walk away, and the rest of the shots until they lost the light and had to cut for the day. "Any questions?"

Both John and Rodney shook their heads, and Rodney felt John clasp his arm. "No, sir," John said, though his gaze held Rodney's. "We got this."

"Yeah," Rodney replied, then let a smile cover his face. 

"Good, good," Gus said, then walked back to where he and Laura had set up. Cameras would be on them both, but Gus and his AD would be set up a dozen feet back, watching on monitors. Cadman's "Quiet on the set!" was echoed by a few other second ADs up and down the line, and then came the shot.

Rodney sat near the closed door and waited for the knock that he knew was coming. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, saw the room through Nathan's eyes once he had slipped entirely into character. The knock on the door came, and he stood, walked to it, and didn't see John on the other side, but rather, Jacob. He instinctively tried to shut it, but Jacob slipped his foot in the doorway and prevented the door from closing. "Please," is all he said, a desperate plea in his voice.

The door opened slightly, Rodney focusing on the foot wedged in his door until John raised a hand, a piece of yellow paper in his grasp. He held it out for Rodney, who took it from him. But when John moved so quick that it barely registered, it startled Rodney. It was as if Rodney watched as John's character slipped a hand to the side of Rodney's face, and Rodney involuntarily leaned into him.

They stood there, a hair's breadth apart from each other as the moment continued to build and Rodney got lost in John's hazel eyes until they closed. Warm lips pressed against his own and Rodney gave into the moment as John kissed him. He couldn't help it when his tongue darted out and pressed against John's, and the kiss deepened for a moment until John pulled back, anguish clear on his face.

"Thank you," was all John said, in a voice Rodney barely recognized.

Rodney stood there, transfixed, as John walked down the stairs, leaned next to the baby carriage, and then pointed up to Rodney. As John turned the carriage and Rodney saw that it wasn't a child, but rather a baby, he somehow came out of his stupor to react to the scene, a look of horror on his face. He pulled the note up and read it, twice, then watched as John and the baby carriage slipped from the walkway, and out of Nathan's life.

"Cut!" 

Rodney came out of the moment and slipped back into reality as he looked up to John pacing back and forth for a few seconds, then walking back up the sidewalk, an awkward look on his face at first, which was quickly replaced by a smile. He took the steps rapidly, skipping every other one, until he was leaning against the doorjamb, smiling at Rodney.

"John," Rodney said quietly. "I am so, so sorry."

John looked at him, clearly puzzled. "What's wrong, buddy?" John asked. "I think that was fucking _perfect_."

"But the kiss," Rodney said. He didn't ask John about the kiss before, other than the direction Gus had given them. He shouldn't have added in tongue, but know that he let his personal feelings get swept up into the moment. "It was unprofessional. I shouldn't-"

"Hey," John said as he put a hand on Rodney's bicep, "it was _perfect_. I wouldn't have changed a god damned thing about it." 

Rodney lifted his eyes from the polished wood of the porch and looked into John's eyes, and only found sincerity. 

"I'm positive," John said.

Gus and Cadman were at their sides a moment later. "I'd like you two to watch the scene with us. I think it's perfect as is, and we don't need another take. But as director, I want to make sure both of you feel comfortable with this take." He gestured to them, and they followed behind.

Once it was queued up, they watched, entranced. The shot was pure cinematic magic - Rodney could see that even in its unfinished state. He chanced a look at John, who had the biggest smile on his face. "I love it," John said. "Wouldn't change a thing." He reached out and squeezed Rodney's elbow, then gave him a nod. "What'd'ya think, Rodney?"

Rodney held John's eyes. "I think it's perfect."

~*~*~

The kiss. _Oh_ the kiss. John knew that the kiss he and Rodney shared had been something for the screen. But at the same time, there was something so personal, so real about it, that he was glad that his character had walked away because once he'd gotten around the corner, he had to take a couple of deep breaths and adjust his throbbing cock in his trousers. And damn Thomas for not being one to wear jeans. When he'd popped a boner around Rodney, he had always been wearing jeans, which made erections easy to hide. But in a pair of light-colored khakis, his cock stuck out like a pimple on prom night.

John had it bad for Rodney McKay. And even though he was no stranger to on-set romances. But was that what this was? It certainly felt like there was an attraction. But besides a few handjobs, and maybe a little making out behind the craft services tables, John had never really done anything with a male co-star before. Sure, he'd shared the screen with some attractive guys from time to time. But at no time in his long career would he even consider himself attracted to a male co-star, much less jerk off in the shower as many times as he had these last few days. There was something about Rodney that turned John into a god damned hormonal seventeen-year-old.

When he'd finally gotten control of himself, he double-timed it back to Rodney and compared notes on the scene. Then Gus had gotten involved, and they went to watch it, and both had blessed it as perfect. And now that _the kiss_ was out of the way, they just had a few more shots to do, and the movie would wrap.

Wrapping the movie was going to be hard for John. Sure, he was going to be glad to get the final scene in the can and move on to the next project, but moving on from Rodney was going to be that much harder. So between takes, John and Rodney talked about their upcoming projects. Rodney had a play back in New York that he had scheduled for the week after wrap, and that was next week. Disney had finished post-production on a space junket John had filmed almost 18 months back, and so his foreseeable future was going to be spent doing publicity for that, and then attend the gala opening over the Thanksgiving weekend. Disney wanted to start yet another superhero franchise, and though John shared the movie with a couple of other A-list actors, if the film did well, he would at least have those to look forward to for the next few years.

Not that he wanted to be tied down to a franchise, especially after working with Rodney on a _real_ script, not just a few action points that had been jotted down on the back of a cocktail napkin and tossed between movie executives. 

John sighed when he realized their schedules weren't going to sync at all for the near future. "Hey, at least we've got ADR on this," he said as he tossed a thumb over his shoulder between takes, "to look forward to."

"When is ADR scheduled?" Rodney asked as he played with his phone. "And do we have a title, anyway? Besides, ' _Descent Into Madness_ '?"

" _Losing Balance_ ," Laura Cadman said as she walked into the room. "Gus and the writer, Teyla, decided on it last night."

" _Losing Balance_ ," Rodney repeated, voice whispered.

"Hey, that goes well with the tilted shots they did at the start of shooting," John said. "I like it."

And like every time he learned the title of a movie he was making, John closed his eyes and pictured it on a marquee. And then he took a second and tried to imagine himself wearing a tuxedo and standing on a stage, accepting an award for his performance. He laughed, just a breath pushed out his nose, but still he clung onto the thought. His action movies, not so much. But this one? This might change his future.

Cadman broke through his thoughts. "We've just got a couple more shots with Rodney from in here," she said. And as if on cue, camera operators pushed through the door and began to situate themselves around the room. "After that, you'll be done with principal, McKay." She turned to John. "Then it'll just be a few shots with you, Sheppard. We've got," she turned to the paper in her hand, "Two shots of you leaving from the doorway, one down the sidewalk, and then Gus wants to have one of you walking down to a car and packing up the doll into a car seat. Wants it shot from a little ways away, but he thinks that it'll be just creepy enough to play throughout the credits." She looked at her watch. "And if we get a move on, we should be able to wrap tonight."

Of course they _weren't_ able to wrap that night. Diversions from nearby Vancouver International Airport started about half an hour after they got Rodney's final shots, but kept interrupting John's shots with shadows. The sound of aircraft movement overhead didn't spoil a thing; as a matter of fact, Gus thought that it added to the grittiness of the final moments of the picture. But heavy shadows were cast over John and the stroller, which de-emphasized John and kept drawing everyone's eyes elsewhere. 

Gus called it a day about an hour after they got the last good shots, and decided to pick up what they could in the morning. John was beyond frustrated, though he knew that the movie business was a lot of 'hurry up and wait,' so he was just along for the ride. He would have to pick up shooting in the morning, whereas Rodney was already released from filming.

"Have dinner with me tonight," John said. Not that he had to; they'd practically been in each other's pockets the last few days, and shared every meal. But John knew it was going to be hard to say goodbye to Rodney, and he wanted to try and do it tonight, rather than the next day.

Once back at the hotel, John asked Lorne to rustle up their usual dinners and have it delivered to Rodney's suite. He showered to get the day's grime and makeup off of himself, threw on his most comfortable clothes, and walked across the hall to Rodney's suite. The door had been propped open like usual, so John stepped in to make himself comfortable. He heard Rodney talking from somewhere, probably his bathroom, but it definitely wasn't to him. Instead, it was to the elegantly dressed woman who sat perched on Rodney's bed.

"Oh, sorry," he said and automatically started to back up. "I didn't know Rodney had company." And suddenly John was just a bit jealous. Who was this elegant looking woman, and why was she sitting on Rodney's bed?

"Hi," she said and stood up. She practically glided across the floor, a demure smile on her face. "I'm Elizabeth. Rodney's told me quite a bit about you, Mister Sheppard."

"John," he replied, and when did his throat get so dry? "I just... I can see you're busy, so I'll just go."

"No, no," Elizabeth replied. "He'll just be a few minutes."

John looked at his watch. "We've got an early shoot tomorrow," he said. "Give Rodney my regards." And with that, he high tailed it out of Rodney's suite, grabbed his jacket and wallet, dropped his phone on the bedside stand, and then left the hotel as quickly as he could.


	11. Rodney and John's POV

Rodney finished his shower and walked out of the opulent bathroom, his hair still sopping wet and a towel draped around his waist. "John? _John_?" he called.

"He was here," Elizabeth said, "but left in kind of a hurry. Said you had an early shoot in the morning? Rodney, I thought you said principal was done."

"It is," Rodney said. He grabbed his clothes and put them on, then said, "Be right back," and went to John's suite. He knocked on the door, but no answer, so he went to Lorne's. His knock was answered a few seconds later, a lanky looking man answering. "Umm, Lorne?" Rodney called.

"Shower!" came Lorne's voice in return.

"We're in the shower," Lanky Dude replied, the unspoken words of, 'Get on with it so I can go' hanging heavily in the air. Half a beat later Lanky Dude's expression changed. "Oh, Mister McKay," he said. "I'm so sorry, but I didn't recognize you. I'm Evan's fiancé, David. Did you, uhh..." He gestured as if he wanted Rodney to come in, but standing there in a towel, it looked like Rodney was intruding on something quite intimate.

"No, no. Just... Is John in there?"

Evan padded to the door, a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping everywhere. "Hey, Rodney," he said. "Wait. Where's Shep?"

"That's what I came to ask you," Rodney replied. "He's not answering his door."

"I just ordered you two dinner. Should be here soon," Evan said. He looked toward the door opposite. "You try Chuck's room?"

Rodney gestured as if to say, 'as you were' as he backed away, then went to Chuck's room. But again, Chuck had no idea of John's whereabouts, so Rodney just went back to his room and texted him, frustrated when he didn't get a response.

"What's going on, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked. "I didn't realize you and John had gotten so close."

Rodney wiped the frustration from his face and went to sit opposite Elizabeth, wondering why she was sitting on the bed instead of the couch. Then he remembered they were having a conversation about the play, and that because of issues with the venue, the producers had moved the timeline up a week. Rodney was due in New York by the end of the week to start rehearsals. Elizabeth flew up to Vancouver to catch up with him, as she had when he was out of pocket for more than a couple months, and return to New York with him. It was brilliant, as it allowed Elizabeth to travel, as well as write off the expense.

"I'm... We're not. Well, maybe?" Rodney said. "Thing is, Elizabeth, I don't really know. I mean we got pretty close. He's an _amazing_ actor-"

Elizabeth cocked her eyebrow at him.

"No, no, I'm serious," Rodney said. "I've got his dailies at Jeannie's house. You need to see them - he's seriously amazing."

She studied him for a moment. "I was going to talk to you about this on the plane so you couldn't make a scene," she smiled as she touched Rodney's forearm, "but there has been some buzz about the movie already. And not just Hollywood. There's a buzz all the way to New York, and not just because of your performance."

"John?"

Elizabeth's nod was small, but there. "I know that it's only April, but it's never too early to start talking about next year's award season. And honestly, I think that this little movie is going to give everyone a run for their money."

Rodney didn't care about him. But after watching John completely transform, completely become Jacob and the performance that he commanded. Well, he wanted _everything_ for John. But yet it still irked him that they didn't get a chance to talk. "Say, Elizabeth," he asked. "What time's our flight tomorrow?"

She pulled a slip of paper out of her bag and handed it to him. "Flight leaves at 10:30 a.m. tomorrow." She studied him a moment, then said, "that enough time?"

He considered it, then said, "Hold on a sec." He went to the door and told Lorne to wait for them so Rodney could go on set for the final shots, and more importantly talk to John. But then he remembered Lanky Dude and that Lorne was most likely occupied. So instead, he picked up his phone and texted John. 'Wait for me in the morning. Want to ride in with you, talk about some stuff, and say a proper goodbye.'

He smiled when he hit send. In his mind, a proper goodbye is him and John making out in the back of the SUV. But even if it was just a handshake - hell a hug. John was a hugger - that would be okay. At least something to put closure on their project together.

~*~*~

John didn't get back to the hotel until well past midnight, himself well past sober. He'd found a local bar where he was able to sit in a darkened corner with just his thoughts, which were equally as dark. He had no business treating Rodney the way he did, but he couldn't help it. Somewhere along the way, Rodney had turned into more than a friend. But John wasn't supposed to be _in_ that world, as the little voice in his head had reminded him throughout the night. Not that he cared what the world thought of him. At the same time, though, he had to worry about what project might come his way next.

And who was Elizabeth, anyway? As long as he was drunk, he might as well be jealous of the beautiful woman that radiated refinement and sophistication that sat on Rodney's bed like she was meant to be there. It was enough to make John knock one of the tasteful pictures from the sideboard in his hotel room, but then cringe at the noise that it created. He was supposed to keep quiet, not wake anyone up. It was why he came in so late, so he didn't have to face Rodney again. Not at least until he got his emotions under control.

John called the front desk and told them to give him an early wake-up call, and to leave a message for Lorne. "Don't call him, but make sure his message button is flashing. Tell him he's got the day off. I just need him to get me a ticket home tomorrow night, and that he and David can stay through the weekend. Got it? Okay, thanks," he said, hoping that his voice hadn't slurred too much. John took off one of his boots but struggled so much with the other that he collapsed into bed, and snored until his phone rang at 6:30 a.m.

~*~*~

The outside elevator ding woke Rodney up far too early though he was secretly glad. A glance at the clock showed it was just before 7 a.m., so he stretched and got out of bed. He stumbled out into the hallway, wearing nothing but his boxers and his 'I'm With Genius' t-shirt that he'd stolen from the set, and knocked on John's door, then waited.

And waited.

He knocked again, but there was no answer. Chuck poked his head out a second later, then Lorne. "Hey, Rodney," Lorne said, "Chuck."

"Is that a hickey... Never mind," he said as he shook his head. "Where's John?"

"Dunno. Gave me the day off. It's me & David's anniversary, so we're gonna spend the weekend here before going back to LA." He yawned, showing far too much skin, and yet another hickey on his bicep. "Want me to give him a message?"

Rodney shook his head. "No, no. I'll stop by the set since it's on the way to the airport," he said, then retreated back into his suite.

He met Elizabeth in the lobby, and They were out the door forty-five minutes later, Elizabeth opting for a much more reasonable outfit than the gown she'd worn the day before. It almost made her look like a regular person, which would have made Rodney smile in other circumstances. They made it to the set about twenty minutes into the journey, during which Elizabeth asked, "What is that you're humming?"

_That_ made him smile.

Rodney didn't find John at first but found Gus and Cadman talking near where the cameras were set up. That was a good thing, as Rodney had something he wanted to talk to Gus about anyway. 

"Rodney!" Gus called out as Rodney and Elizabeth got close. "And you must be Elizabeth Weir. I've heard so much about you," he said. "Welcome. But what are you doing here? Rodney, your principal finished yesterday. We've just got a few shots with John this morning before we wrap the whole production."

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Rodney said. "The final scene with Jacob walking away from Nathan. I've got some ideas..." Gus's eyebrow shot up, and he clarified, "No, no, no. I mean musically." He then went on to explain about the piece that John had inspired, and how it stuck in his head, and how - at least for him - it sounded like the perfect accompaniment to the scene. Might even be something that he might be able to work into a score for the entire movie.

Gus sat back, a pencil at his teeth, and closed his eyes. He then hummed the first few beats of John's piece, apparently having heard it a few times himself. "Hey, Laura? Can you pull up Jacob and Nathan's kiss from yesterday?"

"Sure thing," she said, and suddenly her fingers were flying over the keyboard. There were thousands of hours of footage for what was probably going to be a 90-minute movie. But before long, the scene was on the screen. There was no audio because that was going to have to be dubbed in later during ADR. But as Nathan opened the door, Gus again closed his eyes and began to hum the same tune. 

It fit _perfectly_.

Gus opened his eyes and smiled at Rodney, then turned to Elizabeth. "Well, Elizabeth. Do you have a contract on you that we can sign to get Rodney here to work on a score for my picture?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I'll have my office put one together and send it across. Will that do?"

Gus just nodded. 

"I'll be right back," Rodney said, then excused himself as Elizabeth and Gus talked about the contract. He leaned into Cadman, who was watching the conversation, and asked, "Where's John?"

She shrugged. "Last I saw was him doing his blocking. Probably in his trailer," she said, then bobbed her head toward the Streamline that was parked nearby.

"Thanks, Laura," he said, then made his way to John's trailer. He knocked, but there was no answer. He wracked his brain - where could John be? Should he leave him a note?

But before he could make a decision, Elizabeth was at his side. "Rodney, we've got just 90 minutes before we have to get to the airport, through security and customs, and get on a plane." He studied her for a minute, but her quiet, "We've got to go," won out.

Rodney stood there for a second, head hung in defeat. "Okay, then," he said, and then hoped like hell that Lorne would get John his message and that they could talk.

~*~*~

John saw the familiar SUV pull up to the set and blended in as best he could with the rest of the crew. He watched as Rodney and Elizabeth stepped out of the car, Rodney holding the door and then offering his hand.

He hated this. Hated that he was jealous of _her_ even more. Hated that he was avoiding Rodney. But what else was he supposed to do? This wasn't just another "Hey, nice to work with you. See you around sometime," type working relationship. Or at least it hadn't been for him. And until Rodney's girlfriend showed up, he thought Rodney felt the same way. Who _wouldn't_ after the kiss that they had shared?

That hadn't been a stage kiss. That had been the best first kiss of John's life. And it hurt to think that to Rodney, it had probably been just one of many.

John took the chance to move up the street with a bunch of the crew who were repositioning equipment and then ducked into his trailer. He locked the door, careful not to knock around too much and cause the trailer to visibly move, and sat on the floor near his CD player, where he put on his headphones, his favorite Johnny Cash CD, and absolutely did _not_ hear Rodney's knocks, no matter how insistent they became.

He finally got up a few minutes later when he heard the SUV take off, and sneaked a peek through the blinds. He watched as Rodney sped out of his life, and welcomed the feeling of misery as it overtook him. He took a few deep breaths, then walked out of the trailer and to the makeup tables, where he let them paint a new face that he hoped would cover the feelings expressed on his own.


	12. Rodney and John's POV

Rodney left Vancouver with Elizabeth, though he knows he left part of himself in his hometown when he stepped on the plane. It physically hurt him to go without even a glimpse of John Sheppard, much less talk to him. But as he enplaned, he sighed and decided to close that chapter of his life as best he could. He was destined for New York and had rehearsals for a new play and an eight-week run to occupy his time for the foreseeable future. 

Almost automatically, Rodney reached into his backpack and got his phone and earbuds. But when Elizabeth cleared her throat, he realized that he hadn't heard a word of what she was saying. "Oh, sorry," he said. 

She gave him a curious look and didn't speak for several seconds. After the flight attendant came by and asked them if they wanted a pre-flight drink, Elizabeth studied him. She dropped a hand onto his own before she finally spoke. "He really got to you, didn't he?"

Rodney could fool a great many people. But Elizabeth probably knew him best, so there was no way he was going to bluff his way out of this one. He knew that the expression he held was unhappy, so there was no sense fighting it. "He's an amazing person, Elizabeth. I mean not just an actor - but all around _person_."

Again, she studied him. "What makes him different?"

A smile spread across Rodney's face, one that he couldn't control. Didn't want to control. "He's the most genuine, brilliant, honest person that I've ever met in this business, much less worked with. I'd work with him again in a heartbeat."

"But this is something more than just a working relationship." She leaned in close, and added, "Right?"

In an instant, Rodney's memory returned to that kiss. That one, perfect kiss that he shared with John, better than any on-set kiss that he'd ever had. Hell, better than any kiss that he'd had in his life. He looked at Elizabeth through glassy eyes and wanted to say 'yes.' But because of how uncertain he felt, unsettled for not having said a proper goodbye, he had to settle on, "Maybe?"

Elizabeth's mouth opened, then shut again, unspoken words replaced with an unhappy smile. "I know you trust yourself," she started, her words spoken delicately, but forceful, "but you also know that I have to ask. This was a very intimate project. Are you sure-"

"It's not," Rodney answered, not even having to hear the entire question. "It's nothing like what Katie and I had after ' _Dream Notes_ ' wrapped. And it sure as hell isn't anything like... _him_." 

It was almost infuriating to compare his and John's relationship, even if it was just working, to the single thing that he'd stumbled into with Kavanagh. But Rodney also knew that Elizabeth had to ask. He paid her for her honesty, no matter if it was about a part or about his professional life; it was what he appreciated her most of all. 

Before he could feel his memories start to derail, Elizabeth squeezed his hand. It grounded him and allowed him to take a deep breath, giving him a chance to clear his thoughts. "You know that I had to ask."

He let the smallest of smiles paint his face, and covered Elizabeth's hand with his own. "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Tell you what," she said as the flight attendant brought them over two glasses of champagne, something Rodney hadn't heard Elizabeth order. "I've got some paperwork that I can work on," she leaned in, "including your new contract for the musical score. So how about I work on that and let you just be."

Rodney considered it. "I do have one more thing, though."

Elizabeth gave him the most genuine smile. "Name it."

"Can I take the window this time?"

Elizabeth's smile turned curious. He'd told her many times that he hated sitting next to the window because it made him feel trapped while on "some giant aluminum tube going the speed of sound through air so thin you'd probably die if there was so much as a hairline crack." It was a speech he'd given on more than one occasion. Based on her look, Rodney said, "It'll at least give me a chance to say goodbye. In my own way."

He watched as Elizabeth slowly nodded, then got up and swapped seats with him.

Moments later the plane started to taxi. And before long, he felt it pick up speed as it barreled down the runway and sped him not just away from his hometown, but from John as well.

~*~*~

> **Blind Item** : Recently an A-list actor who has played the field with more actresses than there are in the night sky was seen with his B-list co-star chumming around. Said co-star is an entertainment threat and can fell a thespian with his acerbic wit and diva-like demands. None of this should be a surprise since they were filming together. Except that there were intimate hand-holding moments that gave our source more feels than a drunk used car salesman at a key party. Is it true love for these two hot actors, or is it just part of movie magic? Whatever the case, we hope it's warp speed for our hero, and that this couple doesn't end up in a black hole.
> 
> **A-List Actor:**   
>  **His Hot Thespian Companion:**   
>  **Movie Being Shot:**   
> 

~*~*~

John looked up as a plane crossed the sky, and wondered, like every plane he'd seen in the last hour if it held Rodney. He'd finished principal for the picture but was waiting around, hanging with the crew. It was a way to pass the time, as well as make sure that there were no more shots that were needed. 

As soon as Gus had dismissed him, he grabbed his coat and was gone.

He texted Evan to make sure he cleaned out John's suite at the hotel as the driver took him to the airport. He got back a 'Will do, boss!', then shut his phone off and put on his sunglasses. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and did everything he could to block out the rest of the world. He somehow made it through ticketing, security, and customs with just the bare minimum of words spoken, and then settled into his seat on the aircraft for the flight back to Los Angeles. And with his earbuds in and a double whiskey in his hands, he didn't need to talk to another soul for the rest of the journey.

Didn't want to.

The first thing he did after getting home, besides ignoring the ever-present paparazzi that seemed to hang out at LAX, was to strip out of his clothes and find his wetsuit. He slipped it on and grabbed his board, then padded out to the beach. Not that he wanted to surf. But at least sitting on his surfboard with the cool Pacific water lapping at his toes, allowed him to reconnect with himself. And it gave him, at least, the illusion of being whole, where if he were honest with himself, didn't know if he would ever be whole again. 

The first few days back in Malibu, he continued the ritual, ignoring calls and texts from his friends. He finally left the house on Sunday when Evan texted him that he and David would be back that night. It was a surprise for them that John came to pick them up, but at least it helped out a friend and got him out of the house and back into himself, even if he put on a forced smile to do it. Of course, Evan saw right through it the moment he stepped off the curb and got into the car, but David kept the conversation going until they got home.

John managed to keep up his new habit of being anti-social, not even interacting with David and Evan, for the first couple of weeks since getting back from Vancouver. Keeping to himself, he knew that he wasn't expressing unhappiness. But at the same time, John had been described as one of the most magnanimous people in Hollywood, something that wasn't used for actors these days when privacy was at a premium. Hell, even actors like Meryl and Hanks needed their time away from the limelight. But John was never like that.

But they'd never had to leave Rodney McKay before.

One morning after spending a few hours out on the waves, John stripped out of his wetsuit and walked in to find David and Evan manning the kitchen, the beginnings of a feast laid out around the expansive eat-in island. Though David was outgoing, John knew Evan respected him when it came to his alone time, which made it all that much more odd that Evan was part of the mix. "What's going on, guys?"

"Can you finish up, Boo?" Evan asked.

David nodded, and happily accepted a quick kiss. Sure, it was cute. But at the same time, something in him burned at the display of affection.

"C'mon, John," Evan said, then touched his elbow and urged John toward the balcony.

The use of his first name startled him. Sure, David did it all the time, as did some of John's friends. But Evan almost always used his last name, or when he was feeling familiar, the term, "Boss." John let himself be manhandled out under the overcast sky where Evan sat down a cup of coffee and then waited for John to take a seat. 

"What's going on with you?" Evan asked. The look of concern was genuine, and John knew that he had to come clean. But at the same time, he felt like he wanted to resist. "This morning I got a text from Dex asking what was going on because he hadn't heard from you. Said you hadn't returned his texts or calls. Carson's, either."

John wiped at the frustration on his face. "I don't know anymore, Evan," he finally said, voice low and desperate.

The way Evan cocked his head to the side told another story. "Bullshit, John. I think you know, but you just don't want to admit it."

It was the most direct Evan had ever been with him. And if he were honest, it pissed him off. But he was honestly more pissed at himself than anything else because if Evan could see it, others could. He leveled a look at Evan that would have felled lesser men. But Evan just took a sip of coffee, crossed his arms, and then sat back in his chair.

A heavy sigh escaped John's lips, accompanied by a warm breeze off the ocean. "Yeah, okay," he finally said. "But I'm not ready to talk about it, okay?"

Evan nodded. "That's fair," he said around another mouthful of coffee. "But when you're ready, you know you can lean on me, John. I may be a damned good PA, but I'm also your friend."

"If you really were a friend, you'd have brought me a cup of coffee, too," John said with the barest hint of a smile. 

Evan pushed his coffee cup toward John and gestured as if it were all his.

John scrunched up his nose, then pushed the cup back. "No thanks. I know where your mouth's been."

"Guys?" David said as he poked his head out the door, perfectly timed. He looked at John and Evan and gave them a curious look as he asked, "What's so funny?" When they didn't respond, he just shook his head. "Breakfast is ready, boys," he said, then waved them in.

Over breakfast, the conversation flowed, and John found that though he'd appreciated his isolation, he was indeed ready for a bit of company. He held Lorne's gaze and gave him a wink, as David talked about the latest gossip going on around Hollywood. Evan understood the gesture and gave John a slow blink and nod as he plated up another helping of David's delicious frittata. 

"What did Sam say?" John asked during a lull in the conversation. He didn't have to ask about Ronon; that conversation was probably going to be around whomever he'd woken up with lately, and the progression of the superhero movie that he'd been cast in. 

"Got a couple more commercials for you. Also said there's a video game voiceover that they're interested in you for. I know you haven't done anything like that before, Shep, but it might be good if you wanted to keep that outlet open for the future."

"Space pirate, explorer, or cowboy?" John drawled.

Evan sat a little straighter in his chair. "FBI agent, actually," he said.

John had played a CIA agent early in his career, and the storyline intrigued him, even if it was just half a page part. "What kind of script do they even have for video games?" he asked.

Taking out his notepad, Evan asked, "Dunno, boss. But I'll find out." After scribbling, he added, "Thing is, the game company got taken over by a studio, so you know it's got to have some serious backing." He tossed his notepad down. "I'd assume a script would have to have lots of different branches since gameplay can vary so much. You know, kind of like ' _Clue_ ' or that play we saw in Boston. What was it, Boo?"

David swallowed the huge bite of food he'd taken just as Lorne asked him. "' _Shear Madness_ '?"

With a finger pointed at him, Evan confirmed, "That's the one." 

"Oh, yeah," David said as he finished swallowing, "speaking of plays. McKay's new play opened to stellar reviews. Sam heard from a friend of hers."

John and Evan both looked at David, who instantly went beet red. "Oh god... I am _so_ sorry."

As he took a deep breath, John tried to take the news for what it was. "Nah, it's okay," he finally said. "I need just to let it go. I mean..." He sat back in his chair, his appetite suddenly gone, "I know I don't have a lot of experience-"

"Mouth to junk resuscitation?" Evan started.

"Receiving communion? Heavy on the come?" David added.

"Bobbing for sausages?"

"Polishing the knob?"

"Boxing the one-eyed champ?"

"Siphoning off the swimmers?"

" _Stop_!" John said as he grabbed his sides. They hurt from laughing so much in such a short period. He wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head. "Seriously, though," he said through aching cheeks. "I appreciate the laughs, guys," and he truly did, "but I think. Well, whatever that was seemed to be just one-sided?"

Evan shook his head. "I don't think so, boss," he said. "Remember Chuck, Rodney's assistant?" When John nodded, Evan continued, "He said Rodney has _never_ been that nice to his costars. And you two going on a day trip around Vancouver?" He again shook his head. "Uh-uh. That was something else. Something _real_."

"Yeah, but Rodney's with someone," John said, the sudden image of Elizabeth on Rodney's bed in the forefront of his mind. It was enough to make his stomach roil with what little food he had in it. "So didn't really matter if there _was_ something between us. I won't be responsible for breaking up someone's life just for an on-set fling."

"With someone?" David asked. He shared a confused look with Evan. "Rodney's not with _anyone_. As a matter of fact, last few times he went out for award season, he either went out alone or with his very married agent."

"Who is his agent, anyway?" John asked.

"Elizabeth Weir," David said. "She and Sam are terrific friends. Based in New York City. She mostly represents actors who do plays, playwrights, music and such. But she's got a few good actors and actresses in her barn. Rodney's probably the biggest."

John thought about it for a second. It _had_ to be a different Elizabeth. "What's she look like?"

Lorne did a quick search on his phone and pulled up a picture of Rodney, which he flashed at John. And damn if John didn't automatically smile. He then hit the next image, which was Rodney dressed in a black tuxedo with a blue tie that set off the color of his eyes. He stood next to an elegantly dressed woman, her arm around a well-muscled bald man. "That's Elizabeth Weir, and that's her husband, Admiral Steven Caldwell. Her husband's family owns half of the Manhattan skyline, not that Elizabeth or Steven need the money. He's retired but consults with the Air Force. And Elizabeth is a power broker for most of the names on Broadway."

The hint of hope lit inside him like the smallest of matches. Maybe there was something to this thing, after all? He silently hoped that that match lit a fuse for a bang more significant than anything he'd ever experienced, and not a dud.

~*~*~

Rodney's latest play had opened to fantastic reviews and wild success, though no one had to tell Rodney that. He knew from the first moment that he'd stepped onto the stage, and from the first words uttered by the cast, that this was something else. He was happy that the timeline had gotten moved up because just a week made a huge difference. It meant that he got to work with a couple of actors that he'd never had a chance to in the past, and even though he'd heard mixed reviews, they were both rather good. Didn't matter that the male had had so much plastic surgery that he looked more Ken doll than human, or that the woman dyed her hair so many times, he was surprised she wasn't forced to wear a wig. It was their acting that made them stand out from the rest.

Though there was nothing that could hold a candle to the acting he'd witnessed; he just wished he could get John Sheppard out of his head.

The ache that he'd felt upon coming back to New York was something new for him. While he adored Vancouver, and his sister and her family were there, New York was indeed where he felt himself, felt home. So whenever he jumped on a plane, it was always with a sense of comfort, like wrapping up in a thick blanket after being out in the cold for too long.

But coming back to New York this time was more akin to sitting through a never-ending root canal. Or maybe a better analogy was something along the line of an amputation because it felt like he left a part of him back on that set when he'd had to whisper goodbye to John's ghost.

The only reason Rodney was able to focus for the play was that he was pretty good at compartmentalization. Even though he desperately didn't want to, he took the feelings that he'd held for John and wrapped them up into a tight little package, and tucked them away. And he was sure that that was the end of it, at least until the reviews came in. Playbill declared it one of McKay's best performances of all time and predicted a Tony for not just him, but the cast as well. But the New York Times came much too close to the mark when the theater critic wrote that, "McKay's depth of character knew no bounds in the past. But his haunting portrayal [as leading man Iolyn] was a masterpiece, with a loss so tangible that it oozed out of his performance and infected the audience with a sense of longing you couldn't help but feel it in your bones."

Rodney figured you could only hide so much before your secret was out.

The play sold out for the entire twelve week run in just days, so when the play's backers came forward with the option for an additional month, Elizabeth urged Rodney to do it.

"But what about ADR for ' _Losing Balance_ '?" he asked. "I know that they wanted to get the movie out before the end of the year so that it could be considered."

Elizabeth smiled as the bustle of the post-play breakdown happened around them. "You know Radek would be happy to step in at a moment's notice," she said. "ADR is going to take you four days on the outside, John closer to a week." 

Rodney perked up at the mention of John, which caused Elizabeth smile even brighter. "I talked to Sam," she said, and at Rodney's curious look, she added, "John's agent, Samantha Carter. We went to school together ages ago. Anyway, if you want to try and coordinate your and John's schedule around the ADR, we can try and do that."

Though he held onto hope, he also knew that it could be dangerous. "Let's just see how this works out," he says. "No sense in getting my-" he looked at Elizabeth, "our hopes up." He added a sigh, then glanced back up at her. "Besides, apparently my 'tortured soul' is what's helping fill seats out there." He tried to make light of the situation, but Elizabeth saw right through him.

"Oh, I can bring you right back down to Earth," Elizabeth said, "with a single word."

They looked at each other, and simultaneously said, "Kavanagh."

Elizabeth leaned back on the crate she'd sat down on and smoothed the ruffles of her dress, then went on to tell Rodney about precisely what scuttlebutt was making the rounds, from movie producer to actor to gaffer, about Kavanagh's performance in a script that sounded to Rodney like a mixture of ' _Forrest Gump_ ' met ' _Flight_ ' met ' _Scarface_ '. He'd passed so hard on the project that Elizabeth didn't even get the offer out of her mouth before he was onto the next subject. But apparently, the script had been revived, and Kavanagh overacted his way through the monstrosity.

"Wait'll John mops the floor with him," Rodney said.

Elizabeth leaned back, smiled, and, diplomatic as always, said, "May the better actor win."


	13. Rodney and John's POV

John knew that developers were doing great things with computers these days. But his knowledge of video games was what he grew up with - dropping quarters into pinball machines, or maybe a little Pac Man every once in a while. His brother had always loved the old-school video games like Asteroids, Donkey Kong, or Millipede, so John knew more of what they were capable of, but hadn't kept up with technology. But the fact that he was walking back into Fox Searchlight, the same studio that was producing ' _Losing Balance_ ,' to work on a video game was just odd to him.

He'd gotten the script for the game and read it through. The plot was honestly closer to something he'd seen on ' _The X-Files_ ' than the script John had shot at the beginning of his career, and it was just as intriguing. And based on the complexity, not to mention all of the media consolidation that the entertainment industry had gone through over the last few years, he guessed it didn't seem odd at all that he was walking into what used to be just a bunch of movie studio offices, but now also held the key to video games.

He left Evan in an office to catch up on some items while he discussed the details of his contract with the executives. It was a handsome compensation for an unknown quantity - a video game that they weren't sure would be a hit or not - but he'd been told that the character's likeness was going to be based on John, which was fine by him. Again, anything to get him out of the same old genre made him happy. "At least I won't have to worry about my character having bags under his eyes," he joked, which was met with polite laughter throughout the room. "Just get my ears right. Buncha my fans have a thing about my ears."

Just as the meeting wrapped up, all attention went to the sudden bustle of noise from outside. It wasn't an outburst, but John could tell that first of all, it was Evan - and he was in a hurry. Evan streaked in, said "Thanks" to whomever he was on the phone with, then tucked his phone into his pocket. It wasn't the conversation he'd just had that caught John's attention, though. It was the fact that Evan had the strangest smile on his face. "This is my PA, Evan Lorne," John introduced, then turned to him. "What's up, Evan?" he asked.

Evan leaned close and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "When you're done, you gotta come with me, boss." 

John didn't move at first. But when Evan looked toward the door, an urgent look on his face, John finally stood.

"We'll send the final paperwork over to your agent, Mister Sheppard," one of the underlings in attendance said.

"Thanks," John said and smiled. He made an effort not just to shake the bigwig's hand, but also the two underlings that basically ran the meeting for him. "Looking forward to it," he said, then walked out of the room, Evan pulling him to the side. "What's-" was all he was able to get out before Lorne tightened his grip and pulled him through a maze of hallways until they stood in front of what looked like a recording studio. John automatically glanced up at the red light positioned outside. It was dark, so it was safe to enter. Evan practically pushed him through the door.

"Peter, John Sheppard. John, Peter Grodin," Evan said, the quickest introduction ever.

John shook Peter's hand. "Nice to meet you, Peter," John said. "So, uh..." He had _no_ idea where this was going. But if it was some sort of set-up, John was going to kill Evan.

"Evan and I used to date in college," Peter said, with words that sounded like they were just used to fill the silence.

"Yeah, yeah," Evan said. But that was drowned out with John's laugh, and his follow up, "Jesus, Lorne. Is there anyone in the building you _haven't_ slept with?"

"Shep? Shut it," his PA said, then quickly added a, "Sorry, John." Evan turned to Peter. "Petey, I need you to tell John what you told me. You know, what you're working on."

Peter Grodin smiled, then grabbed a bunch of sheet music from where it was scattered on top of the piano. It looked like most of it was faxed, and he spotted the initials 'MRM' on the top right-hand side of the first couple of pages. Then he saw the word, "Balance" written in scribbled chicken scratch above the first stanza. "It's music for your movie," Peter said. "I mean the main melody, and a bunch of the accompanying pieces are already written, but there are a few bits that still have to be worked out. I'm trying to piece together something that will bridge the happy-family-with-an-edge at the beginning of the movie, to the mental breakdown in the middle, to the haunting ending. Rodney's done-"

John's eyes darted from the music to Peter. "Rodney wrote this?" John asked, interrupting Peter. He knew Rodney had written pieces for movies and plays in the past, that music was in his blood as much as acting. Suddenly he realized he was far too eager, and tried to go more nonchalant again. "Cool," is what he settled on.

"Yes, isn't it?" Peter replied with a nod. "He said that it was something that he'd heard somewhere, and it seemed to stick with him. Said that by the time he was done filming, that it was almost as if it would consume him. That it meant something special to him - something he didn't want to let go of. And that if I screwed it up-"

"Not that part," Evan said through a sigh. He turned to John, and repeated, "Something that meant something special to him." He stared at John for a second, then turned to his friend. "Petey," he said, then struggled with what to say. After a few too many empty seconds of nothing but flailing hands, he blurted, "Just play the damned thing."

Peter gestured with the multitude of papers in his hands. "Which one?"

"Final credits," he said.

"Aah," Peter replied. He showed John the paperwork, then put it on the piano. "It's called 'Lost Without You,'" he said, then sat on the bench. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second, he closed his eyes and took a breath, and then finally started playing. Slow and quiet at first, and then built it up into a piece so desolate in its beauty that John couldn't help but feel it tug at his heart. 

But John knew the tune already. It was his. The piece that he'd been humming ever since hearing about the project.

He stood there, stock still, as the music washed over him, a slight panic deep in his soul that was quickly overwritten with the tiniest bit of hope. 

Rodney wrote this. Rodney wrote this _for him_.

"Rodney?" he finally said aloud. But it was the words he didn't say because if he started talking about this, about Rodney, he'd never stop. Not that Peter would understand anything; he continued to play the haunting melody as John looked at Evan, stumped, but trying to read his expression.

"You leave now," Evan said quietly, "you can get on one o'clock out of Burbank. I've already got a ticket for you held at the counter. It'll get you there about an hour after curtain."

John ignored Peter's curious, "Curtain?" as he snatched the car keys from Lorne. He made it out the building in record time and hoped to hell that he wouldn't get pulled over for speeding.

~*~*~

The final curtain call of Rodney's work-week fell, which couldn't have come at a better time. He'd of course been focusing on the play. But at the same time, he had been working on the score for ' _Losing Balance_ ,' sometimes working into the night over video conference calls with Peter Grodin from Searchlight. Peter and Rodney had worked together on previous films, and when Rodney knew that his plate was going to be full with the play, he insisted on Searchlight bringing him on. While Rodney didn't connect with other actors, much less see eye-to-eye with them, he and Peter worked perfectly in harmony. Pun not intended.

As 'other actors' turned over in his head, Rodney thought back to John. Of course, John had broken every barrier that Rodney had ever put up for himself. And of course, Rodney and John worked so damned well together. So why didn't it go any further? At least as friends? Sure, he could do platonic friendship; he knew John was straight, especially after reading about his much-publicized divorce soon after rocketed to stardom. But still, why didn't John even want to pursue a friendship? He thought that they'd had something back in Vancouver.

Once the final curtain fell, Rodney made small talk with the other actors, something he was not really happy to do, but did it anyway. He promised Elizabeth that he'd try, and his promises _meant_ something to him. But after the third, "It's so wonderful working with you, Mister McKay. I loved you in ' _Dream Notes_ ', Rodney had his fill. He smiled politely, then walked to his dressing room where he found the overly-perky Kate Heightmeyer standing there. He liked Kate, even if she was as nosey as a psychiatrist sometimes. Somehow Rodney'd spilled more secrets to her than he'd told to his sister over the years. She was a rare standout actor that held an audience's attention and even stole the scene from time to time, and Rodney wondered when she'd get her big break. She deserved it.

"What can I do for you, Kate?" he asked as he gestured for her to move.

She did indeed move, but only to jut her elbow out. "Come stage-door with me, Rodney," she said. She kicked her elbow out a couple more times for good measure.

"You already did that," Rodney said as he looked at the time. "Besides, most of the casuals are gone. It's just gonna be groupies out there." He urged her to move again, shooing her away with his hands, which she completely ignored. "Besides, I just wanna go home and enjoy my two days off."

"Mister, 'No, I'm fine. I just want to be left alone'? How about you and I go get a big cup of coffee and talk about why, in a city of literally millions, you'd rather spend your time by yourself?" She jutted her elbow out another time, showing him his alternative to an hour-long heart-to-heart.

Rodney couldn't help but roll his eyes as he put his elbow out, which Kate happily took. She tucked up against his side and practically dragged him to the stage door, then turned, kissed him on the cheek, and flung the door open.

Just as Rodney predicted, there were a handful of groupies still there. The few stage doors that he'd done in the past, no matter the play, was pretty much made up of the same group of people. There as the three or four women who tried everything to get one of the play's principals to sleep with them, half a dozen people that always had headshots and magic markers, so they could sell any autograph that they managed to snag and one or two hangers-on from the play. Usually out-of-towners with more hick in them than manners, who still used 35mm film in real cameras, and ended their vacation with about seventeen thousand pictures to go through. Rodney spotted and cataloged each and every one of them as Heightmeyer started making her rounds.

And then he saw John.

All breath escaped his lungs, leaving him so unaware that he had no clue when the headshot brigade descended on him insisting on autographs. "Wait, wait," he said as he tried to make his way through.

"Rodney?"

He'd never heard a California drawl sound so sweet before. But sure as the gold in John Sheppard's eyes glinted in the flickering EXIT sign that hung over the stage door, John stood just beyond the groupies, dressed in black jeans that snugged over his thighs and a black t-shirt that showed his chest and arms. And flung over his back, held there by a finger, was John's ever-present black leather jacket. But all Rodney had eyes for was John and his smile.

"John? John! Get in here!"

Rodney knew he was not just smiling, but probably being rude to the groupies. He ignored the bust of whatever woman that had just been thrust at him, and took an offered magic marker, scribbling across two, three, then the fourth headshot of his as John parted the crowd and walked to him.

They stood there for a moment, like they were the only two people in the world, even as the small crowd of folks vied for Rodney's attention. It got even more hectic when they realized precisely _who_ this John that Rodney'd called to was.

Rodney stood there, dumbstruck, searching John's face. It was John that finally broke the spell as he asked, "Can I come in?" But before he could answer, Kate saved the show for them both.

"Okay, okay, people," she said in a voice so loud it boomed above everyone else. "That's it for tonight. Go on, go on, now," and shooed them back. "You've got lives and hotels to go back to. Shoo!" It took a few seconds, which Rodney had no idea was even happening because all he could do was stare at John, but she finally got the door shut.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, and then darted past John. She was close to passing them both when Rodney came to his senses, realizing what Kate had done for him. For _them_.

"Kate?" he asked, grabbing her elbow before she could escape. He might have gripped a little too tight when he heard a few stitches of material rip. "Crap, sorry," he said as he quickly let her go. And then he looked deep into her eyes, trying to find the right words.

She gathered close and kissed Rodney on the cheek. "You're welcome, Rodney," she whispered. Then she stole a kiss from John and disappeared into the cavernous backstage.

John and Rodney stood there for a moment, not saying a word as the world continued around them. Finally, a bang from somewhere on set got Rodney's attention, and he came out of his stupor. He said, "Here," and grabbed a handful of John's jacket, then took John by the arm. He dragged John to his dressing room, pushed him inside, and then shut and locked the door behind them.

Now that he _had_ John, what was he going to do? Why was he here? He searched John's face again, finding only a smile. "John?" he whispered as he reached out and touched John's arm to make sure he was really there.

John stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, and Rodney couldn't help but watch John's Adam's apple bob up and down through what was probably a nervous swallow. And suddenly John wasn't two feet away anymore, he stood toe-to-toe with Rodney, calloused fingertips gingerly touching Rodney's chin. He closed his eyes and leaned in closer, and Rodney did the same.

The kiss was like magic. Like a standing ovation and a Tony win and an Oscar win and a Summer's day all wrapped together. It was even better than the kiss they'd shared in Vancouver because this...this _meant_ something. And when John's tongue pushed inside Rodney's mouth, there was nothing else about his world except that moment. A moment he wanted to last forever.

~*~*~

John Sheppard felt foolish. At least he did the whole way to the airport, the long flight to La Guardia, and then the entire cab ride to the theater where Rodney's play was staged. He _really_ felt foolish when he'd stood in the shadows at the stage door, just beyond the groupies that fought each other to get as close as possible, for a potential glimpse of Rodney.

But the moment their eyes met, all he felt was care and admiration. That, and a tightening in his pants, because when did Rodney have time over the last few weeks to have gotten even more handsome?

He restrained himself when Rodney first manhandled him into the small dressing room. But the whisper of his name as it fell from Rodney's lips was too much, and he had to give in. Had to kiss Rodney. And when their lips met, it was like finally getting a cast removed from a long-healed broken limb, or finally being able to scratch an itch that you'd had for months. Rodney McKay was John's itch, and he was going to take every chance he could to rub...

John laughed. It was a _horrible_ analogy. But he couldn't explain it any other way. 

"What's so funny?" Rodney asked as they finally separated. 

"I just can't believe..."

"I can't believe you're here," Rodney said.

"You wrote music for me," John said.

Rodney's smile grew, though his face turned bashful. "Are you mad?" he whispered. When John gave him a curious look, he added, "I kind of stole your tune and, well, just ran with it."

John couldn't help but laugh again. "Meredith Rodney McKay. Do you think that I'd get on a plane with absolutely _no_ notice, fly across the country, wait outside with your weirdo groupies-"

"Hey, at least _my_ groupies are dressed like _humans_!"

John rolled his eyes, then leaned forward and stole another kiss. He couldn't help it when his hips moved almost on their own, and he pushed his denim-covered erection against Rodney's. When he finally opened his eyes, he stared into Rodney's eyes and whispered, "I missed you." And when Rodney smiled, he took the opportunity to lean in and kissed him again.

"Missed you more," Rodney said as he backed John up against the couch. John's knees buckled, and he sat down, pulling Rodney with him. "I can't believe you're here," Rodney repeated. And all subtlety was quickly abandoned as Rodney became almost octopus-like. His hands spread across John's chest, up to his neck, and then down his sides. John did the same, letting his fingers run across Rodney's chest, tweaking a nipple that caused Rodney to moan into his mouth. He slowly dragged the palms of his hands caress Rodney's firm pectorals, and then reached around back, dipping down to Rodney's ass. An ass that John had masturbated to so many times over the last few weeks.

"Wait, wait," John said as he finally broke their kiss. But Rodney leaned forward and kissed him again, greedily. "Rodney, wait."

Rodney finally leaned back, while his fingertips danced on John's jawline. 

"I... I mean, don't call me old fashioned or anything. But I don't wanna do this on a dirty old couch that's probably been here since the Hoover administration."

Rodney smiled as he dipped down and tongued at John's ear, then sucked on the pulse point on John's neck. "Speaking of Hoover," he said, and John felt warm breath paint the skin of his neck, his shoulders.

"Rodney," John said as he felt Rodney's tongue dance along the edge of his ear.

"You know I've jerked off on this couch thinking about you, John?" Rodney said. He leaned in close and whispered like he was spilling a secret. "So many times."

John captured Rodney's mouth with his own as he took one of Rodney's hands and laid it on his crotch, pushing Rodney's finger into the wet spot of the denim caused by his leaking cock. "And I'm gonna go off like a rocket if you don't stop," he said. "Either that or get papped on the way out of here covered in..." 

He didn't say the words, but based on the kiss Rodney gave him, he didn't have to.

Just as quickly as they'd started, Rodney leaned in one more time, gazed into John's eyes, then kissed him sweetly before finally standing. "My apartment's three blocks from here." He reached out a hand, which John took, and let himself be pulled up. He even liked being manhandled to standing, because there was another kiss waiting for him when he got to his feet.

"I can do three blocks," John said as he arranged his throbbing cock in his jeans.

Rodney grabbed a few things, then bent down to grab his shoes, which gave John the best view of Rodney's spectacular ass. "At least I hope I can."

~*~*~

Rodney led John through a second stage door, this one thankfully quiet. It was an old trick that he tried to keep teaching the youngsters; if there is more than one backstage door, and just about every Broadway theater that's been remodeled in the last twenty years had multiple, always do stage-door through one. That would leave the second one free and clear for when people wanted to get away without having to wade through fans. He knew that even New York at close to midnight was still a bustling city, so he didn't try and take John's hand, though he grabbed a sleeve when they crossed 8th Avenue so that John went with him and didn't get stuck with New York traffic. He'd learned the difference between traffic in New York and Los Angeles. In LA, they had to stop for you. But in New York, it was more like a real-life game of Frogger; you or the cab.

By the time they got to Rodney's building, where a happy little doorman had buzzed them in, tipped his hat, and called the elevator for them, Rodney felt the weight of the day, of the performance, overcome him, and he was suddenly exhausted. He appreciated that John waited until they crossed into Rodney's apartment, then backed him up against the wall and kissed him like he was starving for oxygen and Rodney was the only source for miles around. "I can't believe you're here," Rodney said when they finally broke. And as if to make his point, he poked John in the chest, then continued as he dragged his fingertips down John's stomach, furry, tanned flesh hidden by a tight t-shirt.

"I'm glad I am," John replied. He leaned in and kissed Rodney sweetly on the nose, and then turned his head - and yawned. "Sorry, sorry," John said, and then yawned again. "You'd think with the time difference..."

"It's okay," Rodney said. "I'm exhausted, too." 

They stood there for a minute, and then Rodney finally broke their embrace. He grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the small refrigerator, suddenly aware at how awkwardly sparse his apartment was. But honestly, with food delivery available around the clock, a fast Internet connection, bathtub and shower, and his piano, what else did he need. "Do you want anything? Hungry?"

John accepted the water and downed half the bottle. "I'm good. Fed me on the plane," he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

It suddenly occurred to Rodney that John had nothing with him. "Are you in a hotel or something?" he asked. "Where's your stuff?"

John reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, which caused Rodney to smile. "Umm... I came right from the airport."

"And you didn't bring anything with you?"

"Not exactly," he said. "I was in Searchlight working out the details of a video game voiceover that I'm going to do-"

"Video games?" Rodney interrupted. "I thought you were done with that science fiction stuff, John? I mean-"

"Rodney? Rodney!" He'd successfully quelled a Rodney McKay rant in under ten seconds. "It's actually _not_ science fiction, I'll have you know. It's based on an FBI agent-"

Rodney crossed his arms, clearly nonplussed. "Are there aliens _in it_?"

John blustered for a moment and crossed his arms. "That's not the point!" he finally said.

"It's a good thing I like you," Rodney said. "Otherwise I'd have to give you a talking to."

John countered Rodney's posture, hands on hips and chin jutted out. It was so ridiculous, it made him laugh. "Hey, I'll have you know, that I'm thinking about my future." Rodney raised an eyebrow, conveying the word, "How?" just as loud as if it'd dropped from his lips. "If this is successful, it can be parlayed into a few sequels. And I could continue to play the same age - in the game - for more than a decade. That's ten years without aging," he said. "What'd'ya think of that?"

"That's-" Rodney said, then paused. He looked around, stunned that John had silenced him. "That's actually brilliant," he said. He dropped his arms and leaned in, put his arms around John, and kissed him. "I finally fell for someone with some brains."

He felt John stiffen slightly, then relaxed. "And I fell for an ungodly pain in the ass, looks like."

There was another round of yawning, and Rodney finally said, "Okay, so I know this sounds awful, but what would you say if we just called it a night? I mean I just got off the stage after a 3-hour play. You just flew halfway-"

"Sold," John said.

Rodney smiled. He grabbed John's hand and led him towards the back, then abruptly stopped. He turned, smiled, and searched John's hazel eyes. "Just one thing."

John gave him a gesture that could have meant anything from 'get on with it' to 'I'm gonna hurl.' 

"There's just one bed."

"Seeing as how you almost made me come in my pants back at the theater, _I don't think that's gonna be a problem for me_."

"Good, good," he said, then turned. John gave his backside a playful whack, and he led them into the bedroom.

After a quick scrub down to get rid of his makeup and freshen up a little, Rodney gave John the bathroom. He was self-conscious - not sure if he should wait for John, get undressed and climb into bed, or what. But since John didn't take hardly any time at all, he didn't have a chance to think about it.

John walked out of the bathroom, tossed his jacket to a nearby chair, and then came to stand in front of Rodney. He smiled as he undid the buttons of Rodney's shirt, while Rodney tugged at the black material of John's t-shirt. They kissed a little as they stripped each other out of shirts, and then started on pants, John giving Rodney quite the surprise as Rodney unbuttoned John's jeans, happy to find the patch of hair that trailed downward from John's bellybutton. But he saw absolutely no underwear, which stirred something within him.

He finally undid the last button and let John's jeans fall to the floor and couldn't help but stroke John's thick cock and rub his finger over the head, wet with precome. Rodney lifted his thumb to his lips and licked, John completely entranced at the sight. "That is so fucking hot," John said.

Rodney helped him by pushing at his own trousers, then let his boxers fall to the floor, and gasped when John took his cock into his calloused hands. "You're uncut," John said. "That's..." Rodney gave him a curious look, and John said, "I haven't really..."

"It's okay," Rodney finally said. "We can do as little or as much as you want."

John leaned in close, and Rodney enjoyed the feel of warm skin plastered against his own. "I want _everything_ ," John whispered.

Rodney was already hard. But to hear John practically pant in his ear, made him even harder. "Here, let's," he said, then guided them down on the bed, John on top of him. He pulled John down into a kiss and let his hands wander across the tanned, furry flesh laid out above him. John adjusted himself and moved his cock to the gap at the top of Rodney's thigh - and pushed. 

"Oh god," John said, then rested his forehead against Rodney's. He thrust again, hips starting to piston - slowly at first, and then building faster and faster. John's cock leaked all over Rodney's thigh, which let his cock glide against Rodney's skin. There was less friction, the little hair teasing the head of John's cock. But the way John moved his hips was something magical. It put images of him and John in his head, of John bending him over in the shower and taking him. Of him and John fucking on Rodney's overstuffed couch. Of John being able to take him apart with just a move of those hips, the nip of his teeth, the feel of his tongue.

"John," Rodney whispered, breathless at the fantasy he was somehow lucky enough to be a part of. Rodney tilted his hips, letting John dig further into his thigh as Rodney started to play with his cock. He first ran his fingers through the wet mess on his leg, then used it to run a couple of fingers over the head of his own cock. He was so close that it wasn't going to take much.

"Oh god," John said, then leaned down and captured Rodney's mouth. "Of fuck, Rodney," he said and then stilled slightly before coming apart in Rodney's arms. Rodney held him through each wave as he felt come spill between their bodies, and in seconds, he was coming, too. He rubbed the head of his cock and felt rope after rope of come spill across him and John.

They panted together, sharing breath as they came back to themselves. 

"Oh my god," John finally said. He leaned up on one arm, and Rodney could see his come clinging to John's side. Felt a puddle of come from John as it dripped off his thigh and to the blanket below. He dredged a finger through John's come, then brought it to his mouth, not letting go of John's gaze as he greedily licked his fingers.

John made an ungodly noise. "Oh god. That is so hot. That shouldn't be hot, but that is so fucking hot." He then leaned down and captured Rodney's mouth, and Rodney happily shared the spoils. John broke the kiss, and collapsed onto the bed next to Rodney, but ran a hand over Rodney's chest and belly. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you?"

As segues went, especially in bed, that had to be the weirdest.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rodney asked, though his voice held no heat.

"Sex with you," John panted. "It's gonna kill me."

Rodney smiled. He leaned over and grabbed a quick kiss, and then whacked John's bare, fuzzy bottom. "Only if we're doing it right."

After a few minutes to catch their breath, Rodney sat up. "C'mon," he said. "Gotta get cleaned up before bed."

John greedily captured one of Rodney's pillows and buried his head underneath it. "Don't wanna," he said. "C'mfy."

"You're not gonna be comfy when you stick to the sheets in the morning," Rodney replied. He stood next to John, who looked up and pawed at Rodney's naked figure. "Besides. Did you see the shower in there? It's the perfect size for two."

John was next to him in the bathroom before the water was warm enough to climb under.

~*~*~

After a hot shower, and another spectacular orgasm - this one courtesy of Rodney's mouth, with zero clean up - John and Rodney collapsed onto the bed. It was somewhere around 2 a.m., and they blissfully passed out. 

Somewhere after a few unwelcome rays of sunshine struck him across the face, John woke up and glanced at the clock; just after 8 a.m., and Rodney was still passed out next to him, one arm possessively holding John's arm.

Rodney. The fact that Rodney was contentedly passed out next to him made him both unreasonably happy and scared shitless. Rodney. _A guy_. Passed out next to him. After they'd had sex. Twice. John wanted to panic, knew that there was something in him that wanted to panic. But the look on Rodney's face, and the fantastic orgasm he'd had just hours before. Well, that seemed to be winning out.

"No brain," Rodney muttered from under his pillow.

John smiled at how cute it was. And then realized that yeah, he shouldn't freak out, because Rodney was too much of a trip. "What?" he asked quietly, just in case Rodney was talking in his sleep.

"No brain before coffee," Rodney said as he turned over. He smiled up at John. "No freaking out before coffee, either."

John stole his pillow and whacked Rodney with it. He then sat up and climbed on top of Rodney's chest, intrigued when Rodney pushed up a bit and was that Rodney's cock against John's ass?

He took a deep breath, and absolutely did _not_ freakout.

Rodney bucked his hips, and John again felt Rodney's cock against his bare ass, so he leaned back and snuggled against it. Rodney, who had tried to hide away from the light of morning, suddenly looked up as John reached back and just gently rubbed the sensitive tip of Rodney's cock against his back. Rodney smiled up at him, and John smiled back down.

"I'm not freaking out, Rodney," John said. "Promise."

Rodney deadpanned him.

"Okay, so maybe a little," John said as he laid back down. He dragged his fingers across Rodney's belly, up over his nipples, and then laid them delicately on Rodney's chin. They kissed gently. "But mostly I'm okay."

"Hey, I'm the one with TMJ," Rodney said as he raised his own hand to his jaw. "I mean two more minutes of that thing in my mouth, and..."

"Hey, I remember trying to let you sleep last night," John said. " _You_ were the one who wanted the extra helping."

"What can I say? You know how to show a boy a good time."

"Besides," John said, "who in their right mind would turn down a blowjob from the most handsome man of stage and screen?"

"And music," Rodney added proudly. "Don't forget, I wrote you music."

"Oh yeah," John replied. He climbed back atop Rodney. "I'm sure I can figure out a way to pay you back for that."

~*~*~

After another shower, and yet another sex-induced coma, John and Rodney woke up, this time the clock much nearer to Noon. "So what do you want to do today?" John asked.

"I'm doing it," Rodney replied, then pulled John back down onto the bed.

~*~*~

When they finally got up and got dressed, and with a suitcase of clothes that Lorne had overnighted to Rodney's place, they finally left the apartment. John was happy to find out that he'd showed up when Rodney had a couple of days off from the play. They spent a little time outside of Rodney's apartment, but also as much time as they could afford sequestered away, learning how to take each other apart, piece by piece.

The second night they shared cheap Chinese takeaway eaten on Rodney's overstuffed couch, talking about everything from their next projects to whatever gossip David had passed on to John. The inevitable subject of on-set romances came about, a side conversation that they found themselves in from some tangent. John admitted to having just one, with a young starlet that he'd been linked to early on. "She just wanted to skip a few steps and get well known. Quick," he said.

"Same," Rodney said. "Except for me, it was twice. One guy, one girl."

"Who were they?" John asked. Rodney'd done the same, and John had offered up her name. "Anyone I know?"

"Her? No," Rodney said. "But him?" Rodney's face held a look of complete disgust.

"You're kinda freaking me out there, Rodney," John said.

Rodney buried his face in his hands, and through them, muttered, "Kavanagh."

" _Kavanagh_?" John asked. "Peter Kavanagh?" He reached out and patted Rodney's shoulder. "That hack-"

"I know!" Rodney replied. "I'm so ashamed. And do you know what the hell he's doing now?" Rodney asked, and then went on to tell John about what was so clearly not just an Oscar-bait movie, but an Oscar-baited performance as well.

"You know," John said, "I hear we're doing pretty good, too."

Rodney sat up straighter. "If the Academy doesn't recognize you for this work, I swear to god I'm going to swear off pictures for good."

"Hey," John said as he slipped a little closer. "I'm just happy to share the screen with you."

After, they talked about what they'd heard about the movie, and how it might very well be Gus's masterpiece. And then they started to argue about what order Gus's movies should be in. John loved ' _Milk_ ' not only because of the script and the acting but because it was an important film for that moment in time. And Rodney pled the case for ' _Drugstore Cowboy_ '.

"You know, you should come out to the house. Stay with me," John said. "You know when we've got ADR."

"I dunno," Rodney said. "You have enough bedrooms?"

"Like I'm gonna let that sweet ass touch any mattress that I'm not sleeping on."


	14. Rodney and John's POV

Rodney and John's weekend came to an end far too quickly, though they spent as much time plastered together, skin against skin, as they could. It was funny; Rodney spent his professional life distancing himself, and now he was getting close to someone than he ever had in the past. But this was John, and John was worth it.

They spent countless hours together, talking about everything, yet talking about nothing. When discussion of their movie came up, Rodney promised to stay with John during ADR, which was coming up in just a few weeks. But as they continued to talk, an ill feeling came over Rodney. He realized that beyond the week-long ADR session, there wasn't a lot of time that they were going to be able to spend together.

As Rodney's time off dwindled from days to hours to minutes, they fought the outside world to consume every second they had together. Rodney's watch went off, which was his third alarm to remind him he needed to start getting ready for the play.

"I hate this," John whispered against Rodney's lips. He sighed, warm breath caressing Rodney's face as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Rodney's. "But I know you have to get back to the play. And I've got voice for the video game to record."

"But I'll be out there in a couple of weeks," Rodney said as he kissed John's neck, his cheek, his lips. He grabbed John's hand and held it against his chest, clasped in his own.

"You think the studio's gonna figure out we're only using one hotel room during promotion?" John asked. He grinned, trying to make Rodney smile.

Rodney did, but he knew that John saw right through to the sadness he kept within himself.

They soon said their goodbyes, hastened when Rodney's doorman called John to catch his ride for the third time. And with one last kiss, John slipped from Rodney's apartment, leaving Rodney alone with his thoughts.

Rodney moped around his apartment until he got a text from the stage manager about curtain time, and finally left. And when he got home that night, he found that John had left his black leather jacket on Rodney's bed. He fell asleep laying next to it, the scent of John not doing much to help him relax, but let him dream of John all night.

~*~*~

> **Blind Item, Revisited** : Remember that intergalactic leading man who appeared to have 'boldly gone where only gay men had gone before'? Well turns out it looks like our boys are still together. Our spies tell us that they spent a decadent weekend together in the Big Apple, where far too much fun was had by all. Maybe this isn't just a fling? Set phasers to stunning!
> 
> **A-List Actor:**   
>  **His Hot Thespian Companion:**   
> 

~*~*~

John's voice-over week was going frustratingly slow and was in danger of spilling over into a second and third. The director was hyper-focused on even the slightest inflection in his voice and had grated on John's nerves when he said things like, "Okay, but this time with a hint more Denver-ish, with a touch of Oklahoma," and five minutes later, "That's far too much Denver. How about we try a Wyoming-like accent?" And once he was able to get the right accent, the insanity continued.

Of course, John knew that he was mostly just frustrated, because he had Rodney McKay in his home, waiting for him. And if he had his way, they were going to spend as much time in bed as possible, as they'd done back in New York.

The director called a halt to recordings just after 7 pm, which for John, was a good thing. He was going to review what they had and call John back in if they needed anything else. It would be easy since John was doing ADR the following week at the same studio. It was perfect timing, and not just because John was going to strangle him if he suddenly changed his mind and wanted an accent from, say, Chattanooga or Chicago. But even better about the timing was that traffic between the studio and John's house would have died down. John exited the sound booth, found Lorne, and stole the keys. Lorne tended to be a leadfoot, but at least a cautious leadfoot. 

John was far too anxious, and a lot horny, to be cautious.

They made it to the house in just under an hour, where John tossed Lorne the keys, said, "'kay love you mean it bye," and walked into the house, where he found Rodney McKay sitting on his couch, an 'I'm With Genius' shirt (that John was sure was pilfered from the set of ' _Losing Balance_ ') stretched across his broad shoulders, sweatpants that would look better on the floor...and David Parrish. 

"Go home, David. Your husband misses you," John said as he stood over Rodney. He swore he wasn't licking his lips, but Rodney smiled as he licked his own. And was that a bit of a tent starting to be pitched in Rodney's sweats?"

David, who was already getting up from the loveseat, rolled his eyes. "He's _not_ my husband. Yet."

"Don't care," John just said. He smiled down at Rodney, and then face-planted onto the sofa, being careful to bounce most of his body on the cushion, but also land so that he lay perfectly between Rodney's legs. He leaned up and kissed Rodney, barely noticing the door closing behind them, and then laid down, his head on Rodney's belly.

He sat there for a second, Rodney stroking his hair until he knew that he had to move. "Missed you," he said, then got up into a seated position. He kissed Rodney, who smiled and greedily kissed him back.

"Umm, Shep?"

John sighed as he dropped his head back to Rodney's belly. He lifted just enough to say, "You're fired, Evan. Leave the keys on the counter, but you can have my car to haul away all your crap."

"Whatever, boss," Evan called. John looked around but realized Evan was keeping a respectable distance, talking from outside the doorway. "Gonna grill some steaks. David's got baked potatoes and a salad going. Dinner out on the lanai in thirty."

John let his hands drift across Rodney's chest as he leaned up, studied the blue of Rodney's eyes for a second, then kissed him again. He let his hand come to rest on Rodney's crotch, where he found Rodney's cock fully hard and demanding attention.

"Make it forty-five," Rodney called.

John just grinned, then kissed him again as the nearby door shut. This time, hopefully, for good.

~*~*~

Chuck came by John's place far too early and picked up Rodney. They fought LA traffic and went back to Rodney's apartment, where Rodney managed to get a few changes of clothes and stuff into a bag. He'd have to take them back John's place. Otherwise, he risked having to re-wear clothes. And he knew that wasn't something he was going to get away with. Rodney figured it was something John actually did. But after going through John's closet and dresser, he realized that no, John wardrobe was just dull. The overwhelming majority of John's clothes consisted of black pants and black t-shirts.

But John looked hot in them, so that was just fine with Rodney.

Chuck pulled up to the studio a few minutes before Rodney's scheduled ADR time. He knew he didn't have as much time dedicated as John did since he had quite a few lines less of dialogue. Still, it was a chance to spend some time with John.

"Mr. McKay," someone, probably a mid-level flunkie, said as he held out a hand. "I'm Ladon Radim. Welcome back to Searchlight."

Rodney reluctantly shook his hand, not knowing what was going on. He was just here for ADR. "What can we do for you, Mister Radim?"

"Come this way," Radim responded. "There's an impromptu meeting that some of the executives wanted to have before we started your project here."

Chuck reached out and touched Rodney's shoulder, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Rodney shrugged his shoulders, and they followed.

After finding the elevator, and then wending their way through three-quarters of the building, they came upon an executive conference room. "One second," Radim responded, then stuck his head inside. Rodney continued to look around and turned when he heard a commotion coming up from behind them. John. He turned and smiled, but John greeted him with an angry looking face. It softened when his gaze fell to Rodney, though just for a moment. After a quick wink, he turned to the blonde woman that came to a stop next to him. "I don't like this, Sam," he said.

"Lady and gentlemen," Radim said to gather their attention. When all eyes were on him, he said, "Would you come inside, please?"

There was a sizeable horseshoe-shaped table, around which stood three menacing-looking gentlemen. Rodney knew Jack O'Neill; he was one of the biggest of the bigwigs at FOX, responsible for representing the brand to the parent corporation. There was another gentleman that Rodney thought he recognized as Abe Ellis, one of the other bigwigs. But the third man, the one who looked like someone had insulted his mother, was a mystery - at least until the blonde woman said, "Dillon? Dillon Everett? What in the hell are you doing here at Searchlight?"

"Sit down," Everett ordered. Everyone did, and the unhappy look on John's face grew.

It was Ellis that spoke first. "First of all, John? Rodney? Welcome. And welcome to you, Sam. For those of you that don't know her, this is Samantha Carter, John Sheppard's agent."

So that explained _that_. Although Rodney wasn't sure why John's agent was here.

"I'm here, as well," came a cracking voice through a speakerphone piped through a massive audio-visual system. It made the voice sound like Elizabeth was all around them.

"Wait," Rodney said as he processed the voice again. " _Elizabeth_?" he asked. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Rodney, I'm here."

"Let's get started," Ellis said.

Now Rodney was completely confused. Rodney's agent _and_ John's? Something was up. Something big.

Ellis clasped his hands an put them on the table. He smiled what looked to be a genuine smile, then said. "John. Rodney. I want to say that we've seen the rough cuts of ' _Losing Balance_ ,' and we're blown away. I, personally, can say that we haven't put a movie out of this caliber in some years. And I'm not ashamed to say that we have a feeling this movie is going to dominate awards season. I know it was a risky move, and Rodney, I understand you had some reservations-"

"Reservations that were quite unfounded thank you very much. Do you know what brilliance this man has?" Rodney asked as he pointed to John. "The fact that he's been stuck in the sci-fi gutter all these years has been a travesty."

"Thanks, pal," John deadpanned.

Rodney waved him off. It was a conversation they'd had on multiple occasions. John knew he meant no harm.

"Indeed," Ellis continued. "This is going to be big. Not just for John, but all around."

Rodney considered a few minutes. "Do you know what you're going to put up yet?" he asked. 

"Can we get on with it?" Everett asked. It looked like veins were starting to poke out of his neck, and it was clear he was losing his temper.

But Ellis just waved him off.

"I think we're going to go up in just about every major category," Ellis continued. "We need to make sure the right edits are made, and that the movie is well received, but I think it's safe to say that Gus for directing, John for actor, Rodney, you for supporting-"

"Good, good," Rodney interrupted. When all eyes turned to me, he said, "First of all," and ticked on his fingers, "I'm only in a third of the movie, which is supporting role at best. Second, John deserves to win no matter what. And third, if you were to try and put both John and me up for best actor, then you'd risk splitting the vote. And then..." Rodney put two fingers out as he blew a raspberry, and said, "Well that'd only work out for Kavanagh, the bastard."

"No," Ellis said with a calming gesture, "you as supporting. But also you for original score, Teyla Emmagan for best-adapted screenplay. May go for cinematography and a few others. Oh, and of course we'll put the movie up for top honors as well."

"That's all nice and good," John said, "But mind telling us what we're _really_ doing here?"

"I'll _tell_ you what in the hell we're doing here," Everett practically yelled as he stood up.

"Everett," Jack O'Neill said. It was a warning if Rodney'd ever heard one before. "Remember, you're a guest."

"A guest that's got a lot on the line," Everett said. "And I mean you, Sheppard," he added, pointing at John accusingly.

John sat back in his seat, crossed his arms, and said, "Here we go."

What bothered Rodney was that, even though he felt he knew John pretty well, right then he couldn't read him at all. It was as if walls had gone up, impenetrable, emotional walls that hid the world away from John Sheppard, and even kept Rodney at arm's length.

Everett gestured to someone in the back of the room, and Rodney looked up in time to see Radim walking around, several papers in his hands. He handed copies to Sam, John, and then Rodney before he went and stood at Everett's side.

"You mind telling us what the hell is the nature of your relationship?" he asked, spitting the word 'relationship' like a picked scab. 

Rodney looked over the paperwork. The first was two screengrabs off a gossip website. Not that he ever paid attention to anything like that in the past. But as he read them, his heart sank. Though there hadn't been any correct guesses, at least from the printouts he had, he knew that the two blind items were indeed about him and John. The hints of John's identity with all the outer space clues, and Rodney's 'multi-talented thespian' description, well it was clear as day. At least to him. And then he turned to the last page.

It was a picture, grainy, but unmistakable. It was Rodney, skating backward, holding John's hands in his own, as John looked back at him. The affection that they showed each other in that picture was clear. Rodney just wished that he'd known it back then so he could have done something about it. Then again, he knew it was better they waited because-

"Wait," Rodney said as the puzzle pieces he was looking at finally all came together. "Are you asking about me? Me and John?"

Everett dared to look smug as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes," he said. "What exactly is the nature of-"

All at once the room erupted. Sam stood up and started to yell, as Elizabeth's voice began booming over the speakers. Rodney sat and watched as Sam marched up and got into Everett's face, and heard Elizabeth release a stream of vitriol that it made him blush. He was too stunned to respond himself for the first few seconds - until his tongue caught up with his brain. And then he got into Everett's face as well and started to give him a piece of his mind.

A few seconds later, the entire room came to an abrupt silence, prefaced by John Sheppard putting his fingers in his mouth and producing a whistle so loud, it was a miracle Rodney's ears didn't ring afterward. He looked at he group, then slowly stood up and walked to Rodney's side. "The nature of my relationship," he said as he came to stand next to Rodney, "is none of your damned business."

"The hell it isn't," Everett countered. "We have-"

"Everett!" 

Jack O'Neill's voice boomed throughout the room, and once again they were all stunned into quiet, and all eyes fell on him.

"John," O'Neill said, then turned and said, "Rodney." He sighed, then said, "I know that this is a little unorthodox, and we're entertaining a guest here. A guest who needs to remember that."

Everett glared at O'Neill. "Need I remind you that Disney and FOX are in negotiations-"

"Negotiations that are going to happen no matter what happens here," O'Neill said, then gave Everett his own glare. Rodney was almost impressed; he'd seen studio executives bend, especially when it came to future deals. Obviously Jack O'Neill was _not_ your typical studio executive.

"As I was saying," he said, then cut his eyes at Everett, "' _Losing Balance_ ' is going to be a pretty important movie. For all of us."

"Agreed," John said through gritted teeth.

"And as we have come to understand, you two have..."

Rodney looked at John, who held his steely gaze. "That's none of your concern," he said.

"Nope. No, it's not," O'Neill said. "But there are some that are worried that, should you and McKay here come out in a blaze of headlines and magazine covers, it's going to overpower the premier completely. And as such, the movie could get lost. I know that sucks, and I hate that we have to put you in this position, but you know I wouldn't say it if it wasn't important."

Though the intrusion into their personal lives felt like a physical wound, Rodney knew that O'Neill was right - even if the whole thing felt awful. He didn't want his and John's personal life to overshadow the movie. It was too important. Not just for Rodney, but for John, too.

"What would the studio like us to do?" Rodney asked. He glanced over at John, whose eyes held a hurt that angered him. He never wanted John to be in that position. But at the same time, if John wanted to fight, he was willing to fight. Because yes, the movie was important. But dammit, he and John were important, too.

He held his breath until he watched John physically relax. He leaned over and said something that only Sam could hear, and then leaned forward, his clasped hands on the table. And though he still looked like his eyes held far too much anguish, he seemed ready to listen.

O'Neill nodded to Ellis. "Here's how we think things should work. However, this is completely in your own right to take as much or as little advice as you want."

Everett cleared his throat but said nothing.

"You've got ADR this week. Take the time and do it. As I understand it, Rodney, you don't have anything planned until publicity for ' _Balance_ ,' right? And that'll come around early December. So you're pretty much free between now and then?"

Elizabeth's voice came through the speaker. "Actually, Rodney, I was just talking to some people at The Geffen there in Los Angeles. They're interested in talking about hosting you."

"Doing what?" 

"Actually, it would be mostly what you'd like, though they were interested in your music. Specifically letting you perform some of the works you've written, but spend some time going into them, explaining what they mean to you. I know it's not a true stage experience, but-"

"I love it," Rodney said. He looked at John, who smiled. "I mean, without a play to be rehearsing for, it might be something good." Plus, it meant that he would be able to stay in Los Angeles longer. With John. 

That was reason enough to do it.

"We'll talk after this," Elizabeth said.

"And John," Ellis said. "After ADR, you've got publicity for Disney's movie coming up. That's just three weeks away, and then the premier is two weeks after that." He looked at Sam. "What do they have scheduled?"

Sam opened her binder, then ran her finger down the page as she rattled off city after city. "Tokyo, Seoul, Mumbai, Beijing, Chengdu, Taipei, Paris, Amsterdam, London, New York, Miami, Mexico City, Toronto, San Francisco, and then the premiere here in Los Angeles." She looked at John and patted him on the arm. "Your dance card's gonna be full for a while." She then winked at him, and turned to the rest of the room, with a glance to Rodney. "Sorry, McKay."

Publicity was something that no movie actor could get out of. It's just that Rodney'd never heard of promotion quite as grueling as what they'd scheduled for John. Then again, Rodney had never done a superhero movie. Hell, the budget for John's film was probably more than either of them would ever make in their combined lifetimes. 

It was a necessary evil; one that he had to put up with.

Rodney found himself speaking up before his brain thoroughly kicked in. "Premier in LA," he said, and suddenly all eyes were on him. Rodney turned his attention onto Everett. "Would I even be permitted to attend?"

Everett rolled his eyes, as both Sam and Elizabeth said, "Of course you're allowed to attend, Rodney."

John shrugged. "You don't attend, then why the hell should I?" There was defiance in his tone that made Rodney sit up a little straighter.

"Now see here," Everett barked. "We signed you for a three-picture deal, minimum, and you've got a reputation to uphold. You signed a contract to uphold a certain type of contact and _not_ endanger the studio's investment in you. But what, just because you've decided that you wanna start fucking-"

" _That is enough_!" O'Neill yelled. "Everett, I don't give a good god damn who in the hell you are, but you will _not_ talk to another living soul like that. Have I made myself clear?"

Everett blustered. "I don't care-"

John stood up so fast that his chair shot out from behind him. The sound of it bouncing off the wall behind them was the only sound in the sudden silence. "We're done here," he said. "Rodney? Sam?" 

They all stood up, and Rodney walked to John's side. John held his gaze at Everett even as he reached down and grabbed Rodney's hand in his own.

"You walk out that door," Everett said.

"You want to fire me? Fine. Fire me," John said. He let go of Rodney's hand and walked up to Everett, standing toe to toe. "I dare you."

"Fine by me," O'Neill said, "fire him." Suddenly all eyes were on him. "Fuck, have you see this man act? You want to free up John's schedule for the next two years? Fine by me. I've got two projects I'm already pitching him for. And if he's not gonna be shooting your picture and making you money, you can sure as hell bet he'll be making money for _us_."

"Let me know when you want to talk," John said to O'Neill. He then took Rodney's hand in his own. "C'mon, Rodney. Let's go home."

"Umm, don't you have ADR to get to?" Ellis asked. "Studio time's booked and everything."

O'Neill put a hand on Ellis' shoulder and shook his head. With a look to Rodney and John, he just said, "You boys go relax. ADR'll be here when you get back tomorrow."

Rodney squeezed John's hand in his, and they walked out of the room, then out of the studio, defiant of anyone to say a word.


	15. Rodney and John's POV

As John had expected, the ride home from the studio was mostly in complete silence. John and Rodney took John's car after giving Lorne the rest of the day off. But as they neared John's place, Rodney said, "You know, I've never stuck my feet in the Pacific?" So John drove up the beach to his favorite secluded spot, where they walked around barefoot in the sand and enjoyed watching the waves roll in from a rocky overlook. So many words had been spilled during the meeting with Searchlight and Disney, that John felt they didn't have much more to say. Instead, he was content to sit next to Rodney, warm against his side in the noonday sun, and just be.

ADR came and went without a hitch, and what little John saw of the movie, he adored. He was sure that Searchlight should put up the film for cinematography because, even though it was mostly gritty city scenes, it was still masterfully shot. John had to hand it to Gus, Cadman, and the rest of the crew. He'd read how shots were supposed to be done, but it was different seeing the end result, especially coming from the green-screen world. Just the gentle shift from a fully balanced frame with how the movie started, to the last shot, done with the barest tint of an angle, was a cinematic marvel.

John and Rodney found a syncopated rhythm when it came to living together. And though John had gotten used to living alone, he thoroughly enjoyed sharing his space with Rodney. It took a little to learn each other's likes and dislikes, but that was nothing new - at least for John. Rodney, after compromising on something one night said, "You know, I haven't been in a relationship that I honestly cared that much about what the other person wanted that I didn't want, too." He stared John in the eye for a second, then said, "I think that says a lot about you, doesn't it?"

John couldn't help but kiss the grin off his face.

The days before John was going to have to leave to begin the Disney publicity came up far too alarmingly fast. There were a couple of times when Rodney sniped at him, or something about the way Rodney ate his pasta, licked his spoon, or hid a bag of potato chips behind the sofa cushions, that grated on his nerves. But he recognized that it was his brain's self-defense mechanism. Pick a fight before you leave, and it'll make it a little easier to board that flight. So instead of giving in to his hindbrain, John made a conscious effort to _not_ do that. Whenever he felt it coming on, he thought about how long it would be until he would see Rodney again, how long it would be until he woke up with Rodney wrapped around him, then looked into his eyes, and kissed Rodney until both their moods lightened.

The night before John was due to leave was especially hard because Rodney had been away for part of it to finish rehearsing at The Geffen. So John kept himself busy around the house until Rodney pulled into the driveway, where he met Rodney, dragged him inside, and took him to bed. And afterward, as exhaustion took them both and John was sure Rodney was asleep, John whispered the three little words into Rodney's shoulder; the three little words both felt, but both were afraid to say.

~*~*~

Rodney woke up the morning John was due to leave feeling elated for some reason. It was like something in him lit up last night and colored his dreams with images of what he wanted, of what he could have with John. Not that John wasn't immeasurably better than the clown and weird dreams Rodney usually got up to, anyway.

And though he knew he should be sad, he wasn't. Sure, John was going to be away for two weeks. But those two weeks were going to be full of Rodney doing shows at one of the premier West Coast theaters, talking about and performing music that he wrote and loved, and that meant something for him. And by the time he was done, John would be back.

He got the occasional phone call, but mostly video messages and emails from John starting from the moment John stepped onto his plane at LAX. John focused his camera on his surroundings before he turned it on himself and said, "I've never felt so tall before!" when he was in Tokyo that brought a smile to Rodney's face. Then there was the video of John standing, totally soaked, at a crowded train station in Mumbai, with thousands of people milling about, mostly ignoring John and his camera. Taipei found John eating something, then leaning close to the camera and whispering, "I really don't want to know what that was, but it tasted like chicken." And when John sent a video from Amsterdam, his eyes were bloodshot red, but he kept saying, "I swear to god, Rodney, I had no idea they put hash in those brownies!" And then in what John probably thought was a stage whisper, but could probably be heard clear across Amsterdam, John added, "We _totally_ need to come back here!"

As Rodney was leaving for his final performance, he looked forward to coming home and finding John there that night and wished to hell that they didn't have to go to John's movie premiere the next day. But apparently that's the way Disney wanted it; they premiered John's movie on Thanksgiving day to try and drive up the box office.

Rodney just wanted to stay home with John, strip him naked, show him exactly how much he was missed, and maybe if he could muster the courage, tell John how much he meant to him. Though he'd be happy with just the stripping part.

He waited for the phone call, or at least a message, to come, but it never did. So Rodney went to his last performance and went on stage missing John. He took it to heart that Chuck said it was one of his best nights on stage. But he didn't smile until he checked his phone, and saw a video of John sitting on an airplane seat, saying, "I'll be home in two hours!"

Rodney got to the house before John did, so he cleaned up a little bit and took a shower. He sat down on the sofa, then got up again. He paced for a bit, glancing at the door, but knew it would take John to get home as long as it would take. So he forced himself to sit down on the sofa, picked up his book, and started to read.

Sometime later he felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes; he'd fallen asleep. He didn't realize it, and had fought to keep sleep at bay, but had ultimately given into it. When he could finally focus, he saw John, looking a bit frazzled, hair flat and his ever-present tan faded by a shade or two standing in front of him. He smiled, then took the chance when John leaned down to say hello to kiss him.

"I love you," came out of his mouth when they finally parted. Rodney wasn't even sure where it came from, because his brain was all geared up to say something along the lines of 'welcome home.'

John stood there, eyes big like if he moved, he'd spook Rodney. So Rodney tried to say something again. This time, he managed, "I missed you. Love you."

Clearly, his heart was in charge of his mouth. Because his brain knew he wanted to say it, but was having trouble.

John just smiled and pulled Rodney up. And through the biggest grin, Rodney'd ever seen on him, John ghosted, "Love you, too," against Rodney's lips. Their kiss turned greedy, Rodney tasting popcorn, pretzels, and scotch on John's tongue. And when they finally broke, John said, "I've said those words before. But until today I didn't really know how it felt to say them and feel it down in my soul."

Whispering the words back to Rodney, John pulled him to the bedroom, where they stripped each other bare, and said with teeth, with tongue, with hands, what they hadn't been able to say through messages and video.

~*~*~

"Sheppard? McKay? You decent?"

A deep voice bellowed from downstairs, followed by the heavy stomps that Rodney couldn't place. Suddenly a very tall man with dark skin and dreadlocks that spilled over the collar of a designer suit, with green eyes that matched the color of the tie that hung in a loose knot around his neck. "McKay," the immense man said and walked over, then stretched out a hand. "Nice to meet you. Ronon Dex."

Rodney, who was naked under the sheets, said, "Umm, hello?" as he shook back.

But before he could ask who precisely the large man was, he heard John from the bathroom, the sound of the tap now shut off. "Chewy? That you?"

Ronon smiled down at Rodney. "Wanna freak Sheppard out?" he asked. And before Rodney could respond, Ronon tossed his jacket and made quick work of his shirt, too, then climbed onto the bed with Rodney. He sat at Rodney's side and put an arm around him, bare-chested except for the green tie. "In here, Sheppard."

Rodney was trying to figure out why the large man had just engulfed him into a hug - he must be part octopus - when John stuck his head around the corner. John held a toothbrush in his mouth and had a thick towel tied around his waist, and Rodney couldn't help but glance at the dark hair that ran from John's bellybutton to the treasure hidden beneath the cloth. "Well isn't this comfy?" John asked, then walked out and sat on the bed next to Rodney. "This is my incorrigible friend Ronon Dex. Ronon, Rodney McKay."

"He's cute, Sheppard. 'bout time you hooked up with someone I approve of." He turned to Rodney, then said, "Big fan of yours, though I'm mostly familiar with your short stories. Usually read more than I watch." He leaned back and took the sight of Rodney and John in, then added, "But sometimes I _really_ like to watch." He leered about as menacing as he loomed.

"Umm, thanks," Rodney said. And just because he felt like giving it back for some reason, he turned to John and hiked a thumb towards Ronon. "You didn't tell me he was literate."

"And Sheppard didn't tell me how you were in the sack," Ronon shot back. He bobbed his eyebrows at Rodney while Rodney made a mental note for John to tell him about the giant man who still had him under his well-muscled arm.

Except for knowing he was a jokester, Rodney _still_ didn't quite understand who Ronon was, so John gave him a quick overview of Ronon's work, including the movie John and Ronon had worked on together. They were mostly works that Rodney didn't know, though there were some popular titles that Rodney's heard of. Never seen, but heard of. At a lull in the conversation, Rodney glanced at the time, and John said, "C'mon, Rodney. Better get a move on if we're gonna get to the premiere on time."

Rodney looked at the bedside clock again, which showed they had a good three hours.

Far be it for him to be the one to slow them down, so Rodney decided to get up. But then he remembered precisely _why_ he was naked and had second thoughts about standing up with a stranger hanging about. "I'm, uh," he said as he gestured to the thin sheets that covered his lower half. And then he reached out and smacked Ronon's hand when he tried to lift the sheets to get a better look.

"Bad Chewy!" John said. "Get your own." He slipped on a pair of jeans, motioned for Ronon to get up, and then led them both downstairs, Rodney hearing John ask what he was doing there, and Ronon explaining that he was taking them out for a couple drinks before the premiere.

When the coast was clear, Rodney got up and made his way to the bathroom. He looked to where Chuck had dropped off his neatly pressed suit, then climbed under the warm spray.

~*~*~

As promised, Ronon took Rodney and John, and about half a dozen other people, out to drinks before the premiere. Rodney loosened up a little bit, then quite a bit more after his second vodka, though he didn't want to get too loose. John, on the other hand, had nursed an expensive scotch since they'd gotten there. He was going to be interviewed more intensely than everyone else since he was one of the stars of the movie, so Rodney knew he wanted to stay sharp. 

And though Ronon was probably the easiest-going, lighthearted person that Rodney had ever met, he had his serious moments, too. Before they left the bar that Ronon had rented for the afternoon, he pulled Rodney and John aside. "I know Disney's probably having kittens about-" and then he gestured to Rodney. "You want me to keep them away from McKay? I don't mind."

"Thanks," John said. "We're not gonna overshadow the movie - this one or ours. But still, we're not gonna cower away, either. I'll follow Rodney down the red carpet, just like you'll follow me. We're gonna keep it casual, not make any waves until sometime after ' _Balance_ ' premiers at Christmas."

Ronon nodded. "One thing?" he asked. When John and Rodney turned to him, he asked, "Is it okay if I follow McKay instead of you? He's got a better ass."

John dope-slapped him, even as Rodney smiled. "Get your own," he said again as he pulled Rodney close. "Rodney's _my_ guy." They walked out of the bar and to the waiting limousine, and then enjoyed another sip on their way to the premier.

Rodney had been to many red carpet events over the years, but none as elaborate or choreographed as John's premier looked to be. They were all initially brought to a sparsely decorated staging area a couple of blocks away from the theater, and each either paired off with their date or whomever the studio decided would accompany them. Rodney, being an outsider, was put into a limousine with a couple of extra movie stars, neither of which were in the movie either, but at least he'd heard of them. And he couldn't help but smile when he heard John refuse to take the studio's chosen starlet on his arm. Even though his expression was relaxed, he'd heard John say, "Don't push it," as he buttoned his coat and arranged himself in the limousine line.

The limousine pulled up outside of the theater, and the door was opened - and it was then that all hell seemed to break loose. All the flashing was disorienting at first, and Rodney had been just a wee bit panicked. But after he realized that it was just a quarter million lumens of lights randomly flashing from all the reporters, camera crew, and photographers in attendance, he breathed a little easier. He got out and did as he was told, waved to the crowd, talked to the reporters. And, as he'd promised John earlier that morning, he refused to roll his eyes, even as the level of inanity grew with questions of what he was wearing, who his favorite character in the movie was (for a film he'd yet to see), to where he'd had lunch.

But it was all worth it, because every time that he turned back, he saw John standing not even a dozen feet back, looking gorgeous in his black suit, with a starched white shirt that brought out his tan, and untamed hair that Rodney wanted to pull.

John was the first of the trio of big stars from the movie on the red carpet, and if Rodney thought that the crowd was loud when he and his companions stepped out of their limo, he realized it could only get louder. The questions thrown at John were fast and furious, and unlike what Rodney had experienced, the questions thrown out at John were much more appropriate. _Mostly_.

Though there were real reporters at the event, there were quite a few paparazzi as well. And the trick with paparazzi was that if they could get a picture of you doing something outrageous, they could sell it for more money. Like the images of Sean Penn slugging a photographer or a celebrity caught with someone who wasn't their spouse; those could sell. So mixed in with the regular questions were a few that startled Rodney. But it was one that completely caught him off guard that changed everything.

"So any truth to the ugly rumor about you taking a male lover, John? Gonna march in the next gay pride parade?"

Rodney heard every syllable and took each word as a punch to the gut. He spun around to catch John's eye and saw through the way John held himself, the way he clenched his jaw, that John had heard it as well. He stood stock still for a moment then handed back the item he'd just autographed for a fan and walked to where the paparazzi stood.

"You," he said, first pointing at the man and then motioned with his finger to come forward. "Come here."

Flashes slowed from the pace of a lightning storm for a second as the crowd realized something big had just happened. And as people pushed to get a closer look, others near the smarmy looking man pulled back, leaving him open and exposed. He looked nervous but finally stepped forward with a little help from the others around him.

"Ask me that question again," John said, voice even.

"Umm," the paparazzi said, keenly aware that all eyes were on him. "Any truth to the rumor about-"

" _No_!" John barked. "I said ask me that question again."

He cleared his throat and started again. "Any truth to the rumor about-"

" _NO_!" John repeated, even more forceful this time. "You said, ' _ugly_ ' rumor, did you not?"

You could hear a pin drop as John ambled forward. A studio executive quickly walked up behind him, but John held up a hand, and she stayed put as requested, even as she pulled out a phone. She raised it to her ear in an instant, and she spoke quietly, no doubt a higher-up on the other end.

"Since when is finding someone that you enjoy spending time with 'ugly'? Can you explain that to me, sir? What is so ugly about two people finding each other, finding that one small sliver of happiness in a world that's filled with meaningless death, hatred, and anger? Don't two people who defy the odds and get to know each other so well that they'd be willing to step in front of a train to save the other - don't they deserve the love and respect that the world has to offer? And if those two happen to be two men or two women - how is it their love is _any_ less worthy of that love and respect? _How is that ugly_?" He stepped forward. "Can you explain that to me, sir?"

The paparazzi, shamed into silence, turned and slithered away from John, away from the world's prying eyes, and shirked from the spotlight. Though Rodney barely saw any of it. He was so focused on John, blinded by the love that he felt, that he couldn't help but smile.

John looked off toward where the man walked, and finally smiled when he watched the paparazzi cross the street and walk out of their lives. He straightened out his suit, pulled his shirt sleeves, and bowed graciously as people began to clap. There were a few flashes, as people started to capture the moment, but mostly there was just applause. And when John turned to him, Rodney could see something new, something different beneath the surface of those beautiful hazel eyes. John came up to Rodney and stood at his side.

Rodney stood there, dumbfounded until he felt John's hand next to his. He searched John's face for just a second as everything clicked into place, and took John's hand in his. Then they turned to the crowd as an officially - though unintended - outed couple.

Before they turned back to continue the precession into the movie, John leaned close. "I've wanted to do this all afternoon," he whispered into Rodney's ear.

"Do what?"

John leaned forward and took his free hand, letting his fingers dance delicately on Rodney's chin. And as the flashes continued, John closed his eyes and kissed Rodney, pulling him so close that Rodney couldn't tell where he ended and John began. As kisses went, it wasn't the most passionate one that they'd shared. But it spoke loud enough to declare to the world that Rodney McKay was his. And he was Rodney's.

"Wanna go see a movie with me?" John whispered as he rested his head against Rodney's. "I'll buy the popcorn."

Rodney smiled as he pulled John toward the theater, and couldn't wait to get him alone in the back row.

~*~*~

John held Rodney's hand in his as they walked into the theater - to thunderous applause. He stood there for a second, and then said, "Holy shit... Did I? Did I just come out?" He then turned to Rodney, his eyes big. "Oh shit, did I just out you? Rodney, I'm sorry-"

Rodney looked at him, horrified. "You're _sorry_? For what - for linking me romantically to the freaking hottest leading man in Hollywood?" Rodney dope-slapped him, and then took a second to re-fix John's messy hair before he kissed John on the cheek. "It's okay. I'd still love you even if you were just an extra in this ninety-minute claptrap abomination."

" _Hey_!" Zoe said as she came up to them and playfully smacked Rodney on the shoulder. "I'll have you know that this claptrap is a shoo-in for exactly... Oh, zero Oscar nominations. But we're gonna clean up at the MTV and People's Choice awards for sure."

"Rodney, Zoe Saldana. Zoe, Rodney McKay," John said by way of introduction.

"Come on, Rodney," she said as she took Rodney's elbow. "The candy guy has a crush on me, so it's all the Jujubes we can eat tonight!"

There were pictures and interviews still yet to get done, but inside was so much more relaxing than walking the red carpet. At the same time, it felt so much more natural for John to be holding Rodney's hand. And when they finally made it into the movie, he put his arm around Rodney's broad shoulders and kissed him when the lights went down.


	16. Rodney's POV

After the kerfuffle of John and Rodney's coming out, nothing much changed, at least professionally. There were more party invitations, and the couple was asked to do all manner of talk shows. John talked Rodney into doing 'Ellen' with him, and the entire studio lost it for a good five minutes when Ellen gifted them with a toaster oven. "I don't know who this goes to," to which John and Rodney pointed to each other, "but mazeltov."

They attended a few parties since John had finished publicity for his movie, and they had yet to start it for ' _Losing Balance_ ,' though that day crept closer with every ticking over of the calendar. Rodney couldn't help but smile when, at a Disney party, he and John spotted Everett at the same time. The poor man looked like he'd aged at least two decades in the short time that they'd been apart. Rodney smiled saccharinely, but secretly hoped that maybe he'd choke on the olive that sat at the bottom of his martini glass.

"Everett," Rodney said as they walked past him.

Whether he responded or not, Rodney couldn't care less. He had John, and they were free to be exactly who they wanted to be - no hiding from the world. And that was the best thing he could have ever hoped for.

Of course, their movie was to debut at Christmas, which Rodney understood was something they would have to deal with. It's just that Jeannie didn't handle the news all that well. One afternoon, as Rodney sat reading a journal on the lanai while John spent a couple of hours surfing, Evan Lorne walked up to him, the telephone at his side and the oddest expression on his face. "For me?" he asked as he took the phone.

There were multiple voices on the line, the loudest of which was his little sister. "Jeannie?" he asked.

"Meredith! Where the hell have you been. And _why_ on god's green earth are these...these... _people_ making you work Christmas? Don't they understand that you have a family? Madison is heartbroken because she's not going to be able to spend her Christmas morning building and firing off rocket ships with her beloved uncle."

When she finally took a breath, Rodney broke in. "Wait, who all is on the call? He took a quick breath, and asked, "Jeannie, _what did you do_?"

"I'm here," came the unmistakable voice of Elizabeth.

"I'm here," came another voice, followed by, "this is Ellis."

Rodney pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment. When he put it back to his ear, he heard, "This is O'Neill. I'm here as well. And for goodness sakes, Rodney, _can you please make it stop_?"

That set Jeannie off again. Rodney and his parents had always called her a force of nature, but to somehow get Elizabeth and two of the main executive vice presidents of FOX Searchlight on the phone to bitch at them about him having to work? That took stuff even _he_ didn't think she had.

"Jeannie? Jeannie, wait."

"Meredith? What?"

"Remind me to rename my boat," O'Neill said to no one in particular.

"Wait. You have a boat named Meredith?" Elizabeth asked.

O'Neill cleared this throat. "I had a little bit of an unhealthy obsession with Meredith Baxter Birney back in the day," he muttered.

Ellis laughed a deep chuckle. "That explains so damned much about you, Jack."

"People, people," Jeannie said. "What the hell is it going to take to get you to let my brother and his boyfriend come up and spend Christmas with their family. Huh?"

"Hey, Jack?" Rodney asked. "You think the studio would arrange to send my sister and her family to California for a week? She can stay with John and me."

"If it gets me out of this phone call, I'll annex that part of Canada," Jack said. "Consider it done," he added, and then hung up the phone.

Once the rest of the participants had hung up, and it was just Rodney and Jeannie, he asked, "How in the hell did you manage to get O'Neill and Ellis on the line, anyway?"

Jeannie never told him. Just said, "Love you, big brother," and hung up the line.

When John walked in from the water a few minutes later, Rodney told him that they would have guests for the holidays. John simply smiled, then went up to the attic and started bringing down Christmas ornaments.

Evan's reaction wasn't quite the same as John's. When they sprang it on them, Evan went a shade pale and said, "That woman scares me. Sorry, Rodney." 

"Well, she'll probably be here around ten days," Rodney said, figuring the family would stay from sometime before Christmas until after the New Year.

"Is it too late to give you my resignation, boss?" Lorne asked.

"Chicken shit," John muttered, then dope-slapped his PA. "C'mon. I'm sure there are at least a couple more boxes of stuff up in the attic you can help me get down."

~*~*~

Before anyone knew it, publicity was over and the holidays, the Millers, and awards season all descended upon them at once, each throwing them for a loop in their own unique way. Though the way John got nervous at LAX as they waited for Jeannie and her family to pass through customs, you would have thought he was much more high strung, his surfer-boy persona peeled away, leaving only a fidgety exterior.

"What's wrong?" Rodney asked as he poked John in the shoulder, and got a backhanded whack against his bicep in return. "You're all...with the fidgets and stuff. You've met Jeannie and her family before."

"But I wasn't dating you back then, was I?" John said.

Rodney was thankful that the longer they stood, the more people came up to them to say hello, wish them well, and occasionally ask for picture and autographs. That, at least, grounded John as thoughts of their surroundings fell away.

Jeannie and Kaleb finally walked through customs with the biggest smiles on their faces. Madison was asleep in Kaleb's arms, which made Rodney just a bit jealous. He adored her and hated that he was going to miss her first impressions of LA. It must have shown on his face, because Kaleb winked at him and said, "Can you take her, please?" as he handed her over.

Jeannie leaned in and kissed Rodney on the cheek, stroked her daughter's hair when she fussed, and then turned to John. She took his arm and barely talked to Rodney as they made their way out to the car. Which was fine by him, because it was time for John to get the third degree anyway. John just looked back at him with big eyes, and Rodney whispered, "Love me, love my family."

While John played the consummate host to their house guests, Rodney could tell that he was a bit stressed out over the whole thing. But all that stress seemed to melt away Christmas morning when he woke up and found John and Madison underneath the tree playing with all the toys that Santa had brought her overnight. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched, not sure which one was more excited, and put his arm around Jeannie when she walked down the stairs a few minutes later. "Happy Christmas," he whispered as he kissed her hair.

The premiere for ' _Losing Balance_ ' was just a few hours later. So after an opulent spread prepared by Jeannie and John, they all went back to their rooms and got dressed for the occasion. When Evan and David offered to watch Madison for the night, David said that it would give them an opportunity to start figuring out "this dad stuff." Jeannie jumped at their offer, having never had the chance to attend such a gala event before, even though Rodney'd taken her to more cast parties and celebrations than he could count.

The big difference between this premier and John's last was the arrival. This time, John and Rodney weren't just in the same limousine, but John got out, held out his hand, and helped Rodney out. Rodney'd never experienced so many flashbulbs in his life. "Relax," John said as he leaned close and kissed Rodney's ear, and Rodney tried. But seeing as how this was their first real full outing as a couple, he was selfishly on guard, just in case.

' _Losing Balance_ ' was a complete success, with critics raving not only about the storyline, the direction, and cinematography, but John and Rodney's performances as well. Variety's headline the next morning was, "Welcome H'Woods New Power Couple" and had a beautiful quarter-page image of John and Rodney from the premier. Rodney vowed to buy up as many copies available, and keep one near him at all times.

~*~*~

The first week of January brought both the departure of the Millers, as well as the _real_ beginning of the Awards season. While awards season started in late December, ' _Losing Balance_ ' hadn't been considered in any of the more obscure awards that started after Thanksgiving, because it hadn't been released yet. And while the movie's reviews were impressive, and the box office respectable, the movie itself wasn't much more than a blip when the Golden Globes were held at the end of the week. Gus and the score had gone up for awards, with Gus winning. But that was it.

Kavanagh won for his performance. Rodney ranted about it until John got him home, stripped him, and then pinned him down and kissed him as he pressed into Rodney, holding Rodney's eyes as he tenderly thrust, slow at first, and then increased his speed until Rodney's orgasm bubbled up within him and come puddled on his stomach. John cleaned them up, then tucked Rodney into bed and wrapped around him, protecting him from the world.

The movie's first big win came during the Screen Actors Guild Awards two weeks later. It was nominated in just about every category possible, and that Sunday night was the night that they were finally able to meet Teyla Emmagan, the woman whose screenplay was responsible for bringing them together in the first place. She was dressed in a modest gown but exuded radiance with just a simple smile. That night Rodney won for best actor in a supporting role, and the movie's small group of actors won the prestigious 'Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture.' But once again, Rodney seethed as Kavanagh walked up the steps to accept his award; John's performance was passed up yet again.

"Hey, it's an honor just to be nominated," John said. "All I need is for you to believe in me, Rodney. The rest of Hollywood will catch up."

And even though there was a smile on John's face, there was a hint of sadness behind his eyes that Rodney couldn't bear.

~*~*~

Rodney was quite happily asleep, having spent Sunday night at far too many parties, and then spent Monday at the place Rodney now considered home. Chuck had moved most of Rodney's belongings from the small condo to John's house, and had, himself, taken up residence. Monday was spent reading and watching John surf, and they went to bed, memories of laughter and the taste of perfectly grilled steaks, red wine, and decadent dark chocolates on their palates chasing them into slumber.

There was a hint of a noise that tried to tease Rodney away from his dreams, but he sluffed it off and snuggled closer to John. He threw an arm around John's waist, feeling the coarse hair just below John's bellybutton with his fingertips.

"Well hello," John whispered as he pushed back against Rodney. Rodney met his push with a shove of his own, his morning erection rubbing against John's ass.

" _Put on some clothes - we're coming up_!" came bellowing up the stairs, and a crude, "You'd better not be fucking," followed. The first was Elizabeth, the second, Sam.

Before they could react to the voices, the lights flicked on, and people ascended into their bedroom. Sam and Elizabeth first, then came Lorne, Parrish, and Chuck, who tried to give them at least the modicum of privacy as he handed over two cups of coffee.

"What the hell?" Rodney asked.

John turned over on his back, something Rodney knew he couldn't do because he was too hard, and there was only a sheet and light blanket on the bed. And he wasn't awake enough to put a pillow over his crotch, lest he damage himself. But as he sat up, he glanced down at John, whose own erection stood like a tent in the middle of a field. He was just too sleepy to care.

"Hold on a sec," John said, then sat up himself. He leaned over and gave Rodney a chaste kiss. "Good morning," he whispered, then kissed Rodney again. As he leaned back into the padded headboard, he said, "I've been expecting this parade of madness for, oh," he looked at his watch, "three hours now."

"Well, to be honest," Sam said, "We've been here an hour to get everything ready. But we figure we'd give you a little time to wake up on your own. You've got," she looked at her watch, "two minutes. So get your asses outta bed and get downstairs."

As people filed out of the room, Rodney turned to John. "What do you mean, you've been expecting this?"

Chuck pulled the door closed behind him, and John jumped out of bed, Rodney watching his wilting erection bobbing up and down as he stepped back into the previous night's clothes. "Oscar noms, Rodney," he said. He went to Rodney's side of the bed and handed him his own clothes. "Get a move on!"

They got downstairs and sat down just as the broadcast came on. Rodney couldn't help but smile as category after category was called, ' _Losing Balance_ ' was represented. It was nominated for seven major awards, including John, Rodney for both acting and Original Score which he shared with Peter Grodin, Gus for directing, and Best Picture. 

"That's it? Can we got back to bed now?" Rodney asked as the broadcast ended.

Sam just smiled at him. "Now the _real_ work begins."

~*~*~

Rodney had no idea how it happened, but there was apparently more work done behind the scenes after Oscar nominations were announced than he'd ever known. And since he and John had both been nominated, him in multiple categories, a flood of DVDs began to burst through their doors, each with a document that described what the movie was about, and why it was nominated for an Oscar.

"Why do I have to do this again?" Rodney asked Elizabeth one afternoon after he'd watched the third movie that day. He'd called Elizabeth, who was back in New York, to complain about having to watch movie after movie.

"Honestly, you _have_ had to do this in the past. It's just that, until now, I've intercepted them," Elizabeth answered. "But I figure that now you get to vote for something you care about, that you'd want to take the time. Besides, in the past, you've been in a play, or writing a piece of music and didn't have time for all this."

"Are you saying I need to get back to work?" Rodney asked, his voice flat.

The sound of shuffling papers came through the line. "I'm saying that when you're ready to get back on the horse, I've got a few proposals for you."

~*~*~

The flow of DVD screeners slowed, and by late February, had stopped completely. As each day crept closer to the ceremony, Rodney found himself fidgeting. A week before, he flew out to New York and met with Elizabeth, and for once found himself considering the movie offers more than the plays. Not that he wanted to give up the stage. But a movie would mean two months away from John, whereas a play would mean four months, minimum.

"I need to talk to John before I make any decisions," Rodney said.

Elizabeth just smiled, a twinkle in her eye. 

"What?" Rodney asked, failing to read her.

She just continued to smile. "I'm starting to think this may be even more serious than any of us thought it was," she answered.

It was Rodney's turn to smile.

~*~*~

Sunday night in Los Angeles, and it was bumper to bumper. John and Rodney left the house at 3:30 pm, dressed in whatever Sam had gotten tailored for them. When John walked out of the bedroom wearing a suit that looked like it was stitched around his body, Rodney threatened to strip him of his clothes and make them late for the ceremony.

Because he was closer and wanted John to be in the spotlight, Rodney clambered over John in the back of the limousine so that he could get out first, groping John inappropriately along the way. He pointedly ignored John's plea of, "Goddammit, don't give me a boner in this tux. It's tight enough as is!"

If Rodney thought that the number of cameras and flashes were immeasurable for their movie premiere, whatever that number was had been multiplied by a dozen as he stepped out of the car. He reached in and grabbed John's hand and helped him out - and the roar of the crowd grew. John leaned in and kissed Rodney on the cheek, and then they made their way down the red carpet, where they both stopped to talk to E!, TV Guide, People, as well as a host of other print and online media. They had stock answers to give and stumbled only when Ronon Dex showed up behind them, put a well-muscled arm over each shoulder, and loomed over them. Since it was the last stop before they entered the Dolby Theater, they had a few laughs with the interviewer.

"So, Dex. Does this mean you're alone tonight for the ceremony?"

Ronon finally let go of John and Rodney and reached out to take the interviewer's hand. He kissed it, then rubbed his finger over the third finger of her left hand. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"Alicia," she responded.

"You think your network would mind if I took you tonight?" He lifted her delicate hand, turned it over, and dropped a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"He's something else," Rodney said as he and John peeled off, leaving Ronon to picking up not just the woman, but from the sounds behind them, her cameraman as well.

"He really is," John said. 

Rodney clasped their hands together, and they walked into the theater.

The Oscars were one thing to watch on television, but quite another to experience in person. Rodney knew from first-hand experience how long, and potentially dull, they could be. But that was before he had John at his side. The lights flickered, and ushers suddenly descended, saying, "Please take your seats. The broadcast will start momentarily." So John and Rodney made their way to their seats, which Rodney realized they were much better now that he sat next to John than when he was nominated for his supporting role (fifth row), best original screenplay (twice, both in the fourteenth row), and original score (again twice, both times so far back in the nosebleeds that, each time he trudged up to the stage, it felt as long as an Australian walkabout). He felt especially giddy that for some reason, he and John were not just seated half an auditorium away from Kavanagh, but tickled that Meryl was directly behind them. That was until Rodney began talking as the lights dropped and Meryl, instead of shushing him, smacked him with her purse. He turned, only to find Meryl with her most angelic face, and Octavia Spencer trying her best not to cackle.

Ellen had, again, been chosen as emcee for the night's festivities. Her opening monologue and musical number were pointedly critical of the political blustering in Washington, but at the same time, celebrated everything that brought the diverse cast of actors, screenwriters, and artists together. John and Rodney had a special callout, with a lyric about a toaster oven, that the camera caught them both cracking up at her joke.

Supporting awards were offered early on, like red meat to the hungry audience, but this time it was best supporting actress that went first. Rodney chanced a look at his watch, but Octavia's quiet, "Mmhmm," caught him off guard. He gave her a nod, and she smiled back at him before he turned around and paid attention again.

As they came out of commercial break, a producer found her way to John and Rodney's side. The Oscar for adapted screenplay was next and quickly followed by supporting actor. So, if by chance both Teyla _and_ Rodney won, they wanted to make sure that both got through the press behind the stage, both separate and together. However, Rodney also had to be mindful of the time, because original score would be announced about ten minutes later. It was important, because original score began the long list of larger awards to be announced, and ' _Balance_ ' was represented in each category. It would be best if Rodney could be back in his seat, at least for the original score category.

When the nominations for adapted screenplay was announced, there was polite applause for each of the movies, but Rodney had to be careful _not_ to look too smug when the applause Kavanagh's vehicle felt more forced than not - though that may have just been wishful thinking on his part. But it didn't matter, because when Jody Foster opened the golden envelope, she smiled and glanced down at John and Rodney before announcing, "Teyla Emmagan for ' _Losing Balance_ '!

John was on his feet first, Rodney close behind him, and Teyla ascended the stage to thunderous applause. Rodney looked at her, and this time, leaned close and asked, "Is she pregnant?"

John just shook his head. "Duh, Rodney. About six months along. Didn't you notice at the SAG awards?"

Teyla's acceptance speech was beautiful, her voice eloquent as she spoke through tears. She thanked John and Rodney for their amazing performances that brought her words to life, to Gus for taking a chance on her, to Rodney for his exceptional short story, and finally to her husband, Kanaan, who was seated somewhere in the back. "What this experience has taught me was that you must live your life fully, without regret, because life changes in an instant. For Jacob, it was the heartbreak of losing his family when he got lost in darkness. But it is the hope for love, for caring, and for taking a chance to make life what we want of it, and not to hide in the shadows. May you all find your shining light. Thank you."

Everyone was at their feet again, and Rodney couldn't help but smile.

Supporting actor was up next, though Rodney was still so high from Teyla's win that he didn't know that there was a camera aimed at him until he heard his voice coming through the speakers. The Academy had chosen the heartbreaking scene from ' _Balance_ ' when he was testifying against John there for everyone to see. He blushed but felt more comfortable when the scene ended, and John squeezed his hand.

The silence as Laurie Metcalf opened the envelope stretched, and John leaped to his feet when Rodney's name was announced. He pulled Rodney up and kissed him, and Rodney held onto him until John pushed him away, urging, "Go! Go!" and then went back to clapping.

Rodney didn't remember much after winning. He knew that he'd kissed Laurie on the cheek and accepted his award, then went to the microphone and said...something. He got a laugh, and then an audible, "Awww," when he said, "Damn these lights are so bright, but I can still see John smiling up at me. Love you." And then he was hustled backstage where he was met with the press. They asked him questions, and he gave quick, rote answers and took lots and lots of pictures, both by himself and with Teyla. And then he handed off his Oscar, as it needed to be engraved, and made his way back out to the theater.

"Git, git!" he said to the seat filler who had taken his place while he was backstage. John looked at him curiously, and he said, "It's backstage. They have an engraver on site."

"I never knew," John whispered as the lights once again dropped.

After that, John and Rodney were on their feet quite a few more times. The movie won for editing, costume, production design, and cinematography. And then Rodney won for original score, his second win of the evening. He knew that the piece had been hauntingly beautiful, but also knew that he wasn't going to be able to put into words exactly what it meant to him. So instead of explaining everything behind it, because that story really just belonged to him and John, he said that he would "share this with my partner, John. Because when I wrote the original tune that the score was based on, which is called 'Lost Without You,' I knew that it was about Jacob losing his family. But it was also about me having to walk away from our movie's set, with the real possibility of not ever seeing you again."

This time, Rodney also managed to thank Elizabeth, because he knew if he didn't, that he was going to be in for it. So as he held the Oscar over his head one last time, he walked off the stage.

Only this time before the flashbulbs, Rodney practically ran through the backstage experience, nearly tossing his Oscar to the waiting technician who handled inscribing, because he could already hear Timothée Chalamet on the stage talking about the best actress category. He was so fast through the media line, that he stepped back to his seat just before the envelope was opened - only to find a seat filler in his place.

"Move," Rodney said as quiet as he could, but the seat filler, who had probably been told only to move during commercials, sat there with his eyes wide. " _Move, dammit_!" he said, a little louder this time.

"I'm sorry, Rodney. Do you need a moment?" Chalamet asked from the stage, which caused a titter to course through the audience.

"No, no, I'm fine. Carry on," Rodney said as the seat filler finally got up so Rodney could retake his seat. "Please. Continue," he said as he rolled his hand at Chalamet as if to spur him on.

When the laughter ended, Chalamet read through the actresses one more time, glanced at Rodney, and then opened the envelope, announcing Lupita Nyong'o's name. They stood as Nyong'o took to the stage to accept her award.

Rodney leaned forward when John reached over and pulled him into a kiss. And though they were surrounded by thousands, the way John looked at him, nothing but love in his eyes, he felt like they were the only people around. 

After Lupita left the stage and they were coming back from a commercial break, there was a tenseness in the air that Rodney hadn't felt until that moment. Of course, John was up next, so Rodney leaned close and started to whisper to him, and John whispered back. They hadn't realized Ellen had re-taken the stage, and suddenly the eyes of the world were on them. Meryl once again wielded her purse, and this time joined by Michelle Williams who sat to Octavia's right, each of them smacking John and Rodney on the shoulder.

"You two are seriously adorable," Ellen said. And when the laughter died down, she introduced Saoirse Ronan to present the best actor category.

"This is it," Rodney said as he grabbed John's hand.

John smiled at him, but there was already something behind his eyes that Rodney could tell had already admitted defeat.

Saoirse went through the list of nominations, and Rodney clapped the loudest when John's name was announced. The camera was again at their feet, focused on them, and Rodney couldn't help it but reach out and straighten John's tie. It must have gotten pushed askew when John reached over and kissed him. John smiled for the camera and then squeezed Rodney's hand.

The last two nominations, including Kavanagh, were announced, and a pivotal clip of their movie shown as well. The room fell silent, just as it had before every announcement, and Saoirse said, "And the winner is," and then opened the envelope.

Instead of giving anything away, she looked directly at the camera. But at the last second, as she leaned down to the microphone, her eyes darted to their side of the room. Didn't mean anything because three of the actors nominated, including John were on that half.

"John Sheppard for ' _Losing Balance_ '!"

Rodney was on his feet first, the rest of the Academy following. But John just sat there, hands caught mid-clap for whatever name he'd figured was going to be called. The cameras focused on them both, and Rodney reached for John, who continued to sit there, dumbstruck. "You won! You won, you beautiful idiot! You won!" He pulled John to his feet, and immediately enveloped him into a hug, and felt as John's shaking hands surrounded his waist. He pulled back, put both hands on John's incredulous face, and repeated, "You won!" before he leaned in and kissed him.

John's eyes darted around, a baffled look on his face until Rodney pushed him to the stairs. He took them, and Rodney watched proudly as John leaned in and kissed Saoirse on the cheek, and then hesitated before he took the Oscar. He stood there for a moment, to thunderous applause, and Rodney watched as his hands shook, John's eyes glued to the Oscar. "I, uh... Wow," he said as people took their seats.

It took a couple of seconds for the room to die down and for John to find his footing. He started by thanking the usual suspects - Searchlight, Gus, Teyla for such a fantastic script, the crew, and even the actors that played Thomas and the twin girls who played Isabella. "It's funny, but until I made this movie, I never really felt what it would be like to have a family. But it wasn't just the actors, but so many people behind the scenes that made that possible. From camera crew to makeup to transportation. You guys took me in and made me feel welcomed. And we were able to make a movie that was so much more than just the sum of its parts."

He looked down at the audience. "But I especially wanted to say thank you to my partner, Rodney McKay. Rodney, just like any partnership, there's uncertainty at first. But when we both got to the same page in that script, that was when you really stole my heart. You've believed in me from almost the start of this project, helped keep me going when I needed it, and kept me soaring when I tried to ground myself." He winked at Rodney and then turned to the camera. "And for everyone out there who is looking to make a change, looking to make a difference - whether it's in your day to day life, whether it's your job, your life, your work, just go for it. A sage man once told me not to reach for the stars, because you do that in the dark where nobody can see you. Instead, walk out into the brightness of day and reach for the sun. Sure, everyone will see you out there taking a chance. But if you can do it, you can make it. And maybe you'll inspire others who are just starting their journey. And together, we can all reach our dreams. Thank you."

The Academy was on their feet again, their roar grew to deafening when John hoisted his Oscar into the air and blew a kiss to the audience. Saoirse and one of the on-stage ushers escorted John off the stage and were replaced by Ellen, who cut to commercial.

Rodney figured that it wouldn't be until after at least best director that he would see John, but he appeared just a few minutes later. Except John hadn't relinquished his Oscar. He held it tight in the grip of his right hand and walked out, his seat filler disappearing quickly, as he sat down next to Rodney and hugged him. Rodney didn't even care that he'd gotten bonked on the head by the statuette in the process.

They talked so much, even after Ellen brought the broadcast back from commercial, that Ellen called them out from the stage. "I know I said it before, but you two are just freaking _adorable_. Aren't they, folks?"

There were claps and cat-calls from the audience. And as the silence took over, Meryl sat up a little straighter, and Rodney heard her say, "I swear, I could watch these two all night."

After that, the cat-calls got thicker as laughter erupted throughout the theater.

John leaned over and kissed Rodney again, and by now, the camera that had been set up on their side of the audience had been focused on them for a good two minutes, which was a lot of time, at least for an Oscar broadcast. "Look at them," Ellen repeated. "You know, John and Rodney. I _would_ tell you two to get a room, but you know we've got more coming up."

"I got what I came for," John said.

"Best Actor. Well deserved," Ellen said. And again, the audience applause filled the auditorium.

But it wasn't the Oscar that he raised. Instead, John raised his and Rodney's clasped hands, high for everyone to see.

"That, too," Ellen said, playing it up. "You know, you two look so damned happy. I'm sure that if you two want to get married that we could round up _someone_ here that's been ordained."

About two hundred hands went up, including Octavia's behind them. "Octavia Spencer?" Ellen asked. "I didn't know you were ordained."

Octavia smiled, though it was aimed at John and Rodney. "I got to marry my PA and her girlfriend two weeks ago. Why do you think I'm not better dressed tonight? My PA's on her honeymoon, and I forgot to book a stylist!"

"Well you look beautiful," Ellen said. Both John and Rodney turned around and nodded.

She smiled back at them, then reached forward and touched both their shoulders. And then gave them _the look_.

Rodney looked at John. "You wanna?" he asked.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" John asked. "Officially?"

The camera stayed on them, and Rodney was aware that this was probably being broadcast around the world. But he quickly slipped out of his seat and got down on one knee. The theater went quiet, even quieter than before an award was read, and Rodney heard his voice echo as he asked, "John Patrick Sheppard. Would you do me the honor-"

John pulled Rodney to him and gave his answer with his lips, his tongue. Rodney opened his eyes at the end of the kiss and saw John smiling at him, a whispered "Yes, yes, yes" falling from his lips.

"Oh my god," came from the stage. And there was more than a few gasps and claps from the audience as well.

But Rodney didn't care. He turned back and saw Octavia staring at them with big, soulful eyes. "Miss Octavia?" he asked.

She wiped a tear, smiled, then nodded. After a second, she shooed Michelle Williams and got up, then started moving to the aisle. Rodney reached out as he stood, and got John to his feet. They walked to the side of the theater, and then Octavia took them behind the curtain.

All attention, including Ellen's, was on them. But it was Ellen's voice that caught everyone's attention. "Oh shit. Sorry! Sorry, Oscar producers. You can bleep that in post, right?"

_That_ got a laugh.

Octavia took them behind the curtain and stopped to stand in front of the engraving station. She looked around. "There," she said and grabbed one. She showed it to John and Rodney as a camera crew caught up to them. Rodney looked down and saw that it was his best-supporting actor Oscar. "We don't have rings, so this'll have to do." She handed Rodney his Oscar, and then squeezed their arms, and began.

"Dearly beloved, including a television audience of, oh, half a billion people. We are gathered here today to join these to beautiful souls into the sacred bonds of marriage." She looked into the camera and added, "And if you don't like this, then go get your head examined, people! Anyway, we are gathered, among a family of friends and workers to join - what was it? John Patrick Sheppard and..." She leaned forward. "What's your full name, Rodney?"

Rodney blushed and knew somewhere Jeannie was screaming at her television, "Meredith. Meredith Rodney McKay."

"Meredith?" She smacked him on the arm. "You never told me that, dammit! Anyway, to join John Patrick Sheppard and Meredith Rodney McKay in holy matrimony. Now do you, Rodney, take John to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Rodney looked at John, and couldn't help but smile. "I do."

"And do you, John, take Rodney to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"Since we don't have rings, you can exchange Oscars." They did, somewhat awkwardly, and Rodney heard the audience chuckle all the way from the auditorium. And while it wasn't a ring, it still felt like pure gold. "And now, by the power given to me by the UniversalLifeChurch.com, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss."

Their first official kiss as a married couple was the most watched same-sex kiss in all of recorded history.


End file.
